Madhouse
by Renna-chan
Summary: An indepth look at Harleen Quinzel's transition to Harley Quinn, and the development of her relationship with the Joker. Based on Mad Love. JokerxHarley
1. The Rumour

_Hello, everyone! This is my take on Harleen Quinzel's transition to the Harley we know and love. Yeah, yeah, it's been done before. But it's a fun story (with, let's be honest, a ready-made plot) and I'm interested in exploring Harley in my own little way. This is mainly based in BTAS-verse, because that changes the least and it has more defined boundaries for me to wrap my head around (plus I love Art Deco Gotham, what can I say). Why did I stick it in "comics"? I dunno really.  
_

_Now, I'm hoping to follow the whole process as well as I can, which means some scenes will be a little similar to parts Mad Love. This is kind of unavoidable in places - f'r instance, there's only so many ways one can say "hi, I'm Joan Leland" - but I really want to get Harley as well as I can here. I don't want to quote Mad Love exactly but there will be lines that may seem familiar ;) _

_I _hope _everyone's in character and that there aren't any spelling mistakes or typos. This is un-beta'd, and it's like 1a.m., but the story is flowing from my fingertips and I thought I'd better post something to ensure that I do, in fact, pick this story back up again tomorrow and continue work on it. Yyyeeahh. So, it's not as polished or as perfect as I'd like, I'll go over it with a fine-tooth comb when writers block hits me sometime in the near future. So um, be kind, be constructive, and enjoy! Please review!_

_I'm also having some insane display issues that are probably due to sleepiness. I'll have to fix it tomorrow.  
_

**Spoilers: **Mad Love

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman, B:TAS, or any of the characters therein. I make no profit and I am poor. Please do not sue me. _  
_

* * *

The news spread quickly. This sort of news always did.

It started off as an overheard exchange between a couple of the senior psychiatrists. Nurse Susan May, a rumour connoisseur and gossip-monger of the highest order, had to school her features into a mask of nonchalance and pretend she hadn't heard.

The nurses of Arkham Asylum were particularly skilled in the game of gossip. They were very good at keeping what they knew from the doctors and higher administration, and even better at carefully filling in the gaps of what they didn't with practiced interactions with the staff.

The guards, more quick-witted in general than those in less dangerous establishments, knew at once that something was up. The nurses, generally a weary and moody group, were positively chipper. That meant gossip – not just gossip, but _verified_ gossip.

It didn't take long for the inmates to catch the vibe. The nurses were bright-eyed and amused. The guards were curious and wary. That meant something was up.

Opening the front door for Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, head of the asylum, a guard cleared his throat and voiced his concerns.

"'scuse me, Dr. Arkham?"

Arkham stopped and looked up, a frown of impatience furrowing his forehead. "Yes?"

"Ah, is there something we should know, sir?" The guard, a large fellow called Joey, shifted uncomfortably. "I mean t' say, the nurses, they've got their hands on some sort of rumour, sir, it's worrying. We don't know what to expect, sir, and it's making the inmates a little restless."

Arkham sighed, reaching up to resettle his hat upon his head. "I should have known we couldn't have kept it from that lot for long." He waved a hand dismissively as the guard's eyebrows rose. "No, it's nothing bad. We've an intern coming in."

Joey's eyebrows shot up even further. "An intern, sir? We haven't had a new intern – "

"In years, I know. This one's very bright, very motivated. She's qualified, and we think she has the abilities needed to work here."

Joey rubbed his chin, musing. "We'll have to up security, sir. When's she starting work?"

Arkham gave the man a tight smile. "Not for a few weeks yet. We'd have let everyone know in plenty of time, don't worry about that." He sighed again. "I really didn't want everyone to know at this point. The inmates would find out eventually, but I didn't want that to happen until after she'd arrived and settled in. We don't want them having extra time to plan their little games. You know how they enjoy playing with new arrivals."

Joey knew. Oh, how he knew. He'd lost any number of guards to the New Guy Games that the hardcore psychos liked to play. 75 of applicants quit before a month was out; the unlucky ended up dead.

But guards… guards were boring. Guards were old news. Interns were something _special_.

Arkham gave him a hard look. "I don't want them finding out about this… uh…"

"Joe, sir," Joey said promptly, taking no offence. "I'll make sure the boys know that, sir. But I have to tell them, sir, they're getting a bit jumpy."

Arkham waved a hand. "Yes, yes, I understand, but make sure this stays _quiet_. Lord knows those nurses can keep things from everyone else, but I'm not sure about some of your lot."

"Understood, sir. Have a good evening."

"Goodnight, Joe."

Joey fastened the door shut behind the head of the asylum. Jeremiah Arkham was usually the last to leave, and now no one was to go in or out until the day shift arrived.

Unless, of course, Batman turned up with another inmate.

Most of the Big-Name Baddies were in residence, however, and the night should (hopefully) be a quiet one.

The task before Joey wasn't an easy one. He couldn't call all the night shift together and tell them what was up: that would leave too many places without a guard, despite the fact that all the inmates should be tucked up in their cells. Nor could he visit each guard and tell him the news: his movements would come to the attention to someone at least, and arouse the inmates' curiosities even further.

He decided to have the night-nurses deliver the message to his guards. Notes were out of the question – one could too easily be dropped and picked up by an inmate. Whispering in the dark would have to do. Hopefully it would be attributed to horny nurses. Maybe they could giggle a little, and help that rumour along…

Whatever he did, they were going to get suspicious. This way seemed better than the others, and his men needed to know the deal. Last thing he needed was some over-stressed guard making a mistake.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Riddler woke suddenly, unsure of what had disturbed his sleep. A soft giggling broke the silence, quickly shushed. He frowned. Probably a nurse "entertaining" one of the night guards. 

Or was it? The giggling nurse had begun whispering at length, the guard occasionally murmuring a question. Hmm. A surprising amount of conversation for canoodling. He strained his ears, but failed to catch more than the odd meaningless fragment of conversation.

Another giggle and a faint rustling of clothes, and sensible nurse shoes echoed loudly on the linoleum floor as she moved away down the hall.

Hmm.

The next day the Riddler took up station in the day room with a book. Anyone watching closely would be surprised to note how rarely he turned a page. In reality, he was paying very little attention to the page in front of him; instead, he was focusing on the conversations of those around him.

"Heh, some nurse had a li'l heart-to-heart with a guard near my cell last night," one of the more anonymous of the asylum's residents said to another.

"Yeah? No kiddin'. Same thing happened near me. I didn't hear it, guy in the cell next to me filled me in. Think the same girl's sleepin' around?"

"Eh, who cares? It's your turn to deal."

_The plot thickens_, he thought to himself. Perhaps this was information worth sharing.

"Hey there Eddie, what's new?"

_Right on cue_, the Riddler thought as the Joker took a seat opposite him and propped his feet up on the table. The Riddler rolled his eyes before lowering his book and giving the clown a stern look.

"Must you do that?"

The Joker brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his asylum-issue shirt. "Now, now, Eddie. We both know it doesn't take you _that_ long to slog your way through a book that size." He met the Riddler's eyes, his tone hardening slightly. "What's new?"

No avoiding it, really. The Riddler closed his book and set it down on the table between him. "Something's up," he said mildly.

"No kidding." The Joker rolled his eyes. "Everyone's been on edge for a week now. You _know_ something. Care to elaborate?"

The clown's body language was relaxed, but the Riddler knew better than to trust appearances with the Joker. But he'd be damned if he was going to be ordered around by the green-haired freak.

"Why, one would think you'd be able to work it out for yourself, Joker," he said, only the faintest hint of smugness entering his voice.

The Joker glowered. "Don't play games with _me_, Eddie," he said. "We're all in the same position here. Didn't your mother ever teach you to share?"

The Riddler smirked. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to say please?" He waved a hand to diffuse the Joker's growing ire. "It's nothing solid," he admitted. "Apparently a nurse – or several nurses – went around the guards last night. First appearances were of a late night rendezvous, but more talking took place than is usual in such circumstances."

The Joker tapped his fingers against the table, his expression bored. "So? Maybe they were planning a date or something."

The Riddler shook his head. "There are at least five other separate reports of the same incident. Different guards. Could be the same nurse, could be different nurses."

"Hmm." The Joker tapped a long forefinger against his lips. "You know, the guards seem a good deal more _relaxed_ than they have done recently. Have you noticed?"

The Riddler nodded. "And they changed shifts a few minutes later than usual, almost as if the day shift had a short meeting beforehand."

The Joker nodded and stood. "Thanks for the chat, Eddie," he said cheerfully, giving the redhead one of his special Joker-brand grins. "_So_ nice to catch up. We should do this more often." He walked off, giggling to himself.

The Riddler picked up his book again with an air of nonchalance. One of the guards by the day-room doors was looking over at him curiously. He started to read in earnest, deciding to let the matter rest for the moment. More information would reveal itself in the fullness of time, and he didn't have quite enough to unravel this riddle just yet.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another two weeks passed before the Joker learned anything more regarding midnight rendezvous and giggling nurses. 

A rather unfortunate mishap in the day room had occurred after a certain obsessive-compulsive with a penchant for puzzles had been rather overly smug about a particular juicy tidbit of information in his possession. Words were said, bones were broken. Long story short, the Joker had bought himself a whack to the noggin and a week in solitary confinement.

He was just regaining consciousness as he was being dragged down the hallway towards the dreaded solitary wing. He kept his eyes shut and his muscles relaxed, hoping that the guards would think he was still out of it. He'd tried this trick before, and guards said more when they thought you couldn't listen.

"I'm tellin' ya, the Riddler knows," one guard was saying to the other. "He's a smart cookie, that one. He even does them cryptic crosswords an' that."

"Man, that don't mean he's so smart. My sister does those, she's not that smart."

"Is that the blonde one? Man, she's hot."

"Hey, man! That's my sister!"

The Joker rolled his eyes inwardly. Morons.

"Speaking of hot blondes," the first guard continued, "didja catch a look of the new intern? The boss was talkin' to her this morning. Whoooeee! Man, I never thought chicks with glasses was cute before, but she's somethin' else."

Intern? _Oh hell yes._

"Yeah, bet she's naughty too, like them naughty librarians on that tape we saw at Benny's stag night." The guard let out an obnoxious hooting sound that had the Joker fighting the instinct to wince.

"When's she start, again?"

"I heard a week from tomorrow. If that Riddler _has_ figured it out, let's hope he don't tell no one else before then. We'll have enough trouble with them when they find out she's a new doc without them having time to prepare for her arrival."

The creak of a door, and the Joker felt a brief rush of air before he landed heavily against the padded floor. He winced as new bruises protested, but the guards had already shut the door behind him, the heavy bolts ringing as they slid into place.

So. A new intern.

A new _girl_ intern. And apparently very attractive, although such matters were far from the Joker's mind. Oh, but this would be _fun_.

All new doctors – and most doctors coming to Arkham were very experienced and thought they knew what they were dealing with – were assigned to one of the big-name rogues after proving their worth with the less… intense of Arkham's residents. Whoever they were assigned to then had first claim on destroying the new doctor. Many of the psychiatrists left. Some were killed. A precious few stayed on, and their tenacity earned them a sliver of respect, while at the same time taunted the inmates to do their worst.

But interns…. Interns were something special. Untested, inexperienced, and fresh from shrink school. Interns at Arkham were incredibly rare: only the very best were accepted, and even then few interns chose to work at such a dangerous asylum. Those who did were arrogant and self-important, under the impression that their high grades earned them the right to speak with Gotham's finest. Apparently ol' Jeremiah and his team turned a few of this sort down for being unsuitable. Those that made it through the rigorous selection process leapt at the chance for a one on one session with the big boys. Most regretted the decision.

An intern. The Joker grinned to himself. The last intern he remembered had fallen prey to one Professor Crane, and had left Arkham after a single session with him. Such a record would be difficult to top. Perhaps he would make her kill herself instead.

The thought provoked gales of laughter.

* * *

_Chapter Two is on the way. I'm about halfway through writing it now, in fact. I don't want to make the chapters too long, so this may mean I end up with a LOT of chapters._

_But it's good to have a big fanfiction project going again. I haven't had one in ages. I started writing it to prepare for NaNoWriMo, which runs throughout November, but I'm really enjoying it for its own sake. _

_Reviews are appreciated, kthx! _

_ P.S. If you enjoy writing and you haven't heard of NaNoWriMo, there's a link to the website on my profile page. NaNoWriMo is a lot of fun, worth checking out.  
_


	2. The Intern

_Aren't I naughty? Chapter Two up already. I should know better and save some for when I run out of steam, but I've already started writing chapter five and I'm really enjoying it. I don't intend to leave you waiting too long between chapters._

_OH! I realised not long after I posted Chapter One that both the basic plotline (i.e. Mad Love) and the title of this fic are similar to TheMadPuppy's "A Madhouse Romance". I mean, I know (and love) TheMadPuppy's take on the story, but I really hadn't intended the titles to be so similar. So make sure you don't get them confused! And while you're at it, go read TheMadPuppy's fics! (And, Mad Puppy, if you'd rather I changed the title of my fic, I shall do so.)  
_

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Batman, B:TAS or any of the characters therein. This story is based on the graphic novel and cartoon "Mad Love" and is written strictly for fun. I don't own so please don't sue._

* * *

Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Harley to her friends, was a rising star in the psychiatric world, and thought herself a fairly good psychiatrist. Her grades had always topped every class, and she had found that she possessed a certain insight into the behaviours of others that gave her an edge against her rivals and a gift for psychiatry. 

She was young, talented, and ambitious, but she was still well aware that the shine had barely worn off her doctorate. She had the feeling that it was her lack of arrogance as much as her good grades and tight skirts that had won her such a prestigious internship. Harley was more than grateful for the opportunity, and had no plans to waste it.

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, holding a blouse to her chest. No, not that one… what had Dr. Arkham said? No cleavage, and watch the hemlines. Some of the inmates could be trouble.

Harley smirked to herself as she tossed the blouse aside and picked out a more austere shirt. Trouble? Dr. Arkham had clearly never walked by a construction site in a short skirt. Which was probably a good thing. The mental image made her giggle as she slipped into a black pencil skirt. It was short, but smart, and she had noticed another doctor wearing one of a similar length.

She wound a tie about her neck and tied a half-windsor with practiced fingers. Up went her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She stood back to survey herself in the mirror. The result would be considered by many as rather severe, but Harley rarely had the time for exuberance and barely noticed.

The final touch was her new pair of glasses. They were reading prescription, and if she was honest with herself she didn't really need them, but she spent the vast majority of her day with some form of reading material before her and it strained her eyes. The glasses lessened the discomfort she would otherwise feel at the end of the day, and made her look a little more professional, which was rarely a bad thing.

Black high heels, complimented by sleek dark lipstick, and just a hint of eyeliner and mascara. Harley wasn't a big make-up girl, but a few little touches, Spartan though they were, made her feel that little bit more feminine.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel looked herself in the mirror again one last time. She looked a lot less nervous than she felt.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Joan Leland greeted Harley at the door with a soothing smile and a warm handshake. She was a friendly woman with a pleasant face, full lips, and dark hair cut into a short bob. Harley liked her on sight. 

"Dr. Quinzel? I'm Joan Leland."

"Nice to meet you," Harley said with a smile. "Please, call me Harley."

"Of course." Joan led her into the Asylum and down the hallway, giving her a brief orientation. "Now, I know you met with Dr. Arkham and the head of security last week, do you remember all the safety procedures? They're important, and don't be afraid to ask if you forget something."

"I remember. Don't touch the glass, stay away from the bars, stay alert in high security…"

"You won't be spending much time in the high security wing at this point," Joan told her with a smile. "What's wrong? You look disappointed."

"Oh, not really," Harley said, forcing a smile to her lips. Of course she wouldn't be allowed access to the more extreme residents of Arkham at this point, she reminded herself. All the same, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

"Let me guess, the high security wing is why you _wanted_ this internship, right?" Joan chuckled. "Everyone's like that at first. They want all the fame that comes from curing one of Gotham's most dangerous criminals, or even just the experience of interacting with such high-profile personalities. You'll change your mind soon enough, believe me."

"It's not that," Harley insisted as they turned a corner. "Sure, they're famous, even glamorous, but what really draws me to them is their passion. I love intense personalities, they fascinate me. They're a challenge."

Joan smirked to herself, shaking her head. Harley could almost see the thoughts rising in the woman's mind: _another arrogant intern, coming here for the "challenge"._ She sighed inwardly, anticipating a lengthy period before she was allowed to interact with the extreme psychopaths that so intrigued her.

To her surprise, Joan stopped and turned towards her. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "We get a lot of doctors in here – some with years of experience – who think they can handle the crazies we keep locked up. Most of them can't. You can't blame me for being sceptical when an untried intern expresses a desire to work with them."

Harley smiled at her and shook her head. "No, that's alright Joan. I realise that they might be a bit out of my league at the moment, but I'm here because I hope to be able to work with them one day. I can't deny that I hope that day is sooner rather than later, but I'm trying to be realistic about it."

Joan gave her a small smile, pursing her lips in thought. Finally she smiled and beckoned Harley towards an elevator. "Come on, then." When Harley raised a questioning eyebrow, she laughed. "Hey, I remember being young too," she said sardonically; Harley mused that she couldn't be more than thirty-five, hardly old.

"I remember what it was like coming here the first time, knowing who was here and wondering when I'd get a glimpse of them. I'll take you through our Rogue's Gallery." Joan glanced sidelong at Harley as the elevator doors opened with a _ping_. The young woman must have been excited, but hid it well.

They passed through the guard station into a long hallway. It was wide, wider than any they had passed through so far, and lined with glass-walled cells. The inmates, the most dangerous within Arkham's walls, looked up as the doctors entered. Some noticed that Harley was new, and pressed themselves up against the glass, leering at her with hungry eyes.

Harley had expected to feel afraid, and was surprised to feel only mildly apprehensive. She returned their gazes with her own searching look, eyes curious. Some, taken aback, retreated into the shadows. Others continued staring.

"I admit to having an ulterior motive to bringing you through here," Joan admitted. "I want you to understand that these people are hardcore psychotics. If you give them an inch, they'll do much more than take a mile. They're dangerous. Do _not_ underestimate them."

Harley nodded. _Yeah, yeah, I know. _They had moved further down the hallway, and she was beginning to recognize faces behind the glass. There, the woman with the plants – Poison Ivy. That face in the shadows was Killer Croc.

A cheerful whistling reached her ears, tugging the corners of her mouth into a smile. She followed it, leaving Joan behind, intent on discovering the mysterious whistler.

She knew who it was before she reached the cell. She slowed as she neared it, struggling with the growing feeling of – what? Fear? Excitement? A mixture of the two?

She felt herself drawn forward, nerves singing, as she stepped closer to the cell and the Joker came into sight.

He was leaning against the wall, almost as if he was waiting for her. She stared at him, eyes hungry, like the psychopaths who had fed on the sight of her just moments before.

He looked up caught her gaze. He stared at her for a fraction of a second before his face broke into a wide, cheeky grin. He winked.

Harley stared at him in surprise, then ducked her head to hide the smile that crept across her face. _Don't flirt with the psychopaths, Harley. Bad girl. No cookie._

Joan had come up behind her. "Ah yes, the Joker," she said, putting a hand to Harley's shoulder and gently directing her away from the cell. "Don't even _think_ about it. He's one of the worst. He'd chew you up and spit you out."

Harley followed Joan through the rest of the hospital, barely paying attention to the woman as she lectured her on the dangers of underestimating the big boys. When you've heard one horror story of a shrink found bludgeoned to death with his own notepad, you've heard 'em all. Instead, Harley's thoughts kept creeping back to the inmate who had excited and attracted her in ways she hadn't experienced before.

That smile… something had bubbled up within her from the depths of her soul, a trace of childish exuberance that she had long ago set aside in favour of other pursuits. From a young age she had been a talented gymnast, and instead of playing with other girls and boys her age, she had found herself spending longer and longer hours at the gym, training with gymnastics classes, her parents, and later a coach. It had started out as a fun after-school activity, but it didn't take long for the young Harley to apply her ambitious drive to the sport. She had never quite made it to Olympics. Her real passion was psychiatry, and eventually school had taken over from gymnastics. Long periods at the gym turned into long periods at the library or in the lab. She had never really had the time for playing.

She thought of that smile again, and recalled how much she really had enjoyed gymnastics. Perhaps she would take it up again. A night or two a week at the gym would do her good.

Joan pushed open the door to the staff common room, and Harley put her thoughts to one side as she went to greet another crowd of co-workers.

* * *

_I always find it easier to write Harley than her Puddin'. _

_In our Next Episode, we rewind to see the Joker's take on meeting Harleen Quinzel for the first time. Because I can._

_Reviews are love!_


	3. The Plan

_Hello, dear readers, and welcome to chapter three. I'm trying to switch POVs from chapter to chapter. Well, actually, that wasn't my original intention but that's the way it's kinda turning out. _

_Joker time! Yay! This is the first time I've really tried to get into his head. Not the easiest of things. Everyone who can do this with style gets so much admiration and applause from me.  
_

_Standard disclaimer still applies!_

* * *

The Joker had a week in solitary confinement to muse upon the best course of action with the new intern. This sort of thing could be tricky. The first problem, of course, was that she could be easily assigned to a different person. Sure, the intern would _want_ to be assigned to the Joker – everybody did, after all – but it was rarely an intern's choice. 

The Plan had popped into his mind early in the week, inspired simply by the fact that she was female. He had dismissed it. The Plan, however, refused to leave him alone, and bounced back into his brain at least once a day, disturbing the creation of other, more realistic plans.

Sure, The Plan was a _good_ plan. All of his plans were good plans. In fact it was a stroke of genius, if he did say so himself. It would give the intern more reason to want him, and only him, as a patient, and it would be a fantastically amusing way to destroy her.

All the same, it made him feel very slightly uneasy.

He had to make her fall in love with him.

Of course, this would be simplicity itself. He was stunningly attractive, effortlessly charming, and more fun and excitement than a day at the fair. The _hard_ part would be to ensure that the intern set aside all common sense and dismissed the warnings of her superiors. The hard part was making sure she wasn't scared off or told anyone about it.

And then, when she was totally, completely, absolutely and passionately in love with him, the façade would be dropped. He would torment her, torture her, and terrify her. (He was rather pleased with the alliteration involved.) She, heart-broken and driven to the brink of madness, would kill herself.

It was beautiful. It was fun. It was the perfect plan.

Several things worked in his favour here. Firstly, any intern managing to score a place at Arkham would be ambitious and highly motivated, so she would be naturally driven to him anyway. The passion and determination usually focused on work could be re-directed to their relationship. Second, he was the most high-profile criminal in Gotham, the Clown Prince of Crime himself. All he had to do would be to hint that he would divulge all his secrets, perhaps imply that she could write a book, and she would do anything win him as a patient. If he was clever, the senior psychiatrists might even push her towards him, thinking perhaps she could do more than they could to cure him.

The Plan was perfect. It was without flaw.

Still, his week was almost up before he resigned himself to The Plan. Yes, it was the most likely to work. Yes, it would be the most fun. And yet, "love" wasn't a realm that the Joker had complete control over. It was peanuts to get any woman to fawn at his feet, true, but any fool knew that women could be trouble. Anyway, relationships weren't exactly his forte. He tended to get annoyed at the girl for something and then shoot her in the head. It was very important that he didn't lose patience with the intern early on.

He was released and taken back to the normal high security area a day before she was supposed to start work. He had a day, therefore, to glean what more information he could about her and truly perfect The Plan.

Somebody had leaked the information to the masses. They had apparently known about it only for a day or so, because it was still the hot topic and discussed at every corner. The Joker set about garnering what extra information he could without having to actually overtly _ask_ someone about her.

Unfortunately, he was beginning to think he was going mad. He kept hearing the word "harlequin" at the edges of his hearing. Perhaps the Riddler was trying to get him back for the arm-breaking incident, telling people to go around murmuring "harlequin" just to drive him mad. It was really _distracting_, and he was finding it a bit more difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

It was near the end of his free time in the day-room when he finally discovered the intern's name. Two inmates were discussing "that new doctor, Harleen Quinzel".

Harleen Quinzel. He blinked. Surely not…

Harlequin?

He burst into gales of laughter; he had to be sedated and restrained before being quickly returned to his cell.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Joker woke the next morning with a smile on his face. This wasn't at all unusual, but the day in question certainly was. It was a day that came with a brand spanking new intern. 

A brand spanking new intern called Harley Quinn.

The Joker giggled to himself. He had already mentally renamed her, and took great delight in the name. What would she be like? The guards had thought her attractive, but then they didn't have the greatest taste.

He hummed cheerfully to himself as he brushed his thick green hair. With any luck, Dr. Harlequin would get a guided tour of the asylum, including the Rogue's Gallery. He chuckled nastily.

The high security wing all woke early. Excitement was palpable in the air, heightening the Joker's sense of anticipation. Villains yelled across the hall at one another, hooting and laughing. The Mad Hatter's voice rang out, berating someone for their rudeness. There was more laughter, and a couple of mocking shouts.

Suddenly conversation stopped completely. In the distance a guard's voice was heard, answered by a voice the Joker recognised as that of Dr. Leland. A thrill ran through him and he leant against the back wall of his cell, whistling a bright and cheery tune, a favourite that he liked to think of as his personal theme song.

The distant voices grew nearer. His fellow inmates were muttering quietly to themselves, only the occasional voice rising enough to be audible.

He could hear the footfalls of Leland and the intern. Could she hear him whistling? One set of footfalls stopped, but the other came on, closer and closer. When they stopped again, he looked up.

A shock ran through him, one he didn't expect. He could feel the life within her as she stood outside the glass, staring through at him. Transfixed. He stared back for a split second before he remembered himself and grinned at her.

She didn't look frightened. He was half-expecting her to be afraid.

Hmm. Good girl. He favoured her with a cheeky wink, and was rewarded: she blushed slightly, and ducked her head in an attempt to hide the smile that he saw tugging at the corners of her lips.

His grin widened. The Plan was off to a flying start. It was clear that she was attracted to him, and was barely even _trying_ to resist the sensation.

Leland caught up to her charge and started to guide her away. The Joker kept his gaze on his new intern, grin wide. She looked back over her shoulder at him as she was led away down the hall.

The Joker stood leaning against the wall for a long time, trying to reconcile the girl's appearance with the sensations he had experienced upon seeing her.

She had looked… restrained. The most restrained person he had ever set eyes on. Tight skirt, like a straight-jacket for her legs. Professional-issue high heeled shoes. Flattering lab-coat over a collared shirt, buttoned high at her throat. Necktie, perfectly straight. Blonde hair, that would look so pretty flowing over her shoulders, was instead pulled up into a stern bun at the back of her neck.

He could remember every detail, and each one conflicted glaringly with the impression he had of her as a person. She had _passion_. She was _alive_, alive in a way few people really were. He saw it in her eyes: a fire lay banked there, almost extinguished by years in the professional world. How _satisfying _it would be to rip her hair out of that bun…

The Joker pushed the thoughts aside. That wasn't according to The Plan. Still, the girl's nature would make The Plan all that much easier: she was a Real Person, that one. A living person. And if he could shake Society's hold on her and make her laugh when nobody else could, he knew she would be his.

And she had blushed. His grin widened. This would be easier than he thought.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a well-known fact: girls liked roses. And he knew just where to get one. 

Sneaking out of the day-room wasn't an easy task, but the Joker was very practiced at it. Sneaking into Poison Ivy's cell was easy: it was left open when its resident was spending time elsewhere. The lanky man slunk into the room, staying in the heavy shadows, and found the roses without too much trouble. Red, pink and white flowers were in bloom, but the choice was an easy one. Red, obviously. The flower he chose was just beginning to open, and would last.

He snipped the rose carefully and slunk back out of the room, pausing to steal a small, thin vase that stood unused. Pam wouldn't cut flowers for display; she must have used the thing for nursing plant cuttings or something. Who cared? She wouldn't miss it, especially with a flower missing. The Joker grinned to himself at the thought of her rage when she discovered one of her babies was missing a flower.

Getting it into Dr. Harlequin's office was a little more difficult, but it was lunchtime and those who weren't on their break were fairly relaxed, not expecting any trouble in full daylight.

Her office was… messy. Apparently the last "inmate" hadn't cleaned the room before he left, and piles of papers and folders sat un-filed on the floor. Still, the desk was clear, ready for its new occupant. The Joker poked around for a few minutes, but apparently his intern hadn't had the chance to make the room her own yet. The only evidence that she had even been there was the university degree that sat propped up against the wall, ready for hanging.

The rose went into the vase, filled with water from the water-cooler, and he hunted around for a notepad. He scratched out a quick accompanying note and slipped it around the neck of the vase.

_Come down and see me some time – J._

* * *

_Expect another update sooner rather than later. I'm still three chapters ahead. (Although given the difficult terrain that I will soon have to traverse, progress may slow slightly.) _


	4. The Visit

_Admit it, I'm awesome for updating this often. This chapter is a bit half-and-half, POV-wise. It's also a little bit shorter, but I'll make it up to you in chapter 5, I promise._

_Again, the first half of this chapter is modelled closely on the episode and comic "Mad Love", although I tried to make it my own. I admit to really liking this scene in the cartoon so I didn't change it too much.  
_

_Standard Disclaimer still applies.  
_

* * *

He hadn't expected to see her, if he was honest with himself. A _sensible _person would have alerted her superiors at once. Of course, she wasn't nearly as sensible as she pretended to be.

The Joker was lying on his bed after lights out, thinking over The Plan and its inevitable conclusion.

She appeared in his line of sight, unexpected, holding his note in one hand. He frowned. She wasn't meant to turn up quite yet. She was meant to agonize over it for a day or two first. Hmm.

"How did this get into my office?" she asked mildly, the merest trace of a warning note in her voice.

The Joker smiled, turning on the charm. "I put it there," he said, his voice low. It was after hours, but her hair was still tied up in that damn bun.

"I'm sure the guards would be interested to know how you did that," she was saying, folding her arms.

It was perfect. If she hadn't told anyone, then she was already his. It was only a matter of time.

"If you were going to tell, you already would have," he teased. He giggled and jumped to his feet, pacing about his cell with an animated expression on his face. "It's always nice to have someone new about the place! You know, everyone gets so excited when an intern turns up. And you're _special_." He jumped onto the end of his bed and crouched there, so close to her that if the glass hadn't been between them, he could have reached out and touched her.

She took a step back, unnerved by his quick and unexpected movements.

"I like what I've heard about you, doll-face," he told her, his voice hushed. "_Especially_ the name. Harleen Quinzel." He giggled.

The girl rolled her eyes, tucking the note he had given her into the inside pocket of her lab coat as she collected herself. "Oh yeah? I've never liked the name."

"Well _I _love it. Rework it a little, and you get Harley Quinn!"

She made a little "hrumph" noise at the back of her throat, her dark lips curving into a smile. She stepped closer to the glass. "Yeah, like the clown character harlequin. Believe me, I've heard it before."

Too many times, by the look of it. No matter, she'd think of it differently if the Joker had anything to say about it.

He put his palms up against the glass and leant closer to her. "It's a name that puts a _smile_ on my face," he insisted, demonstrating with one of his best. "You really don't like it?"

Her smile widened a little, and she lowered her eyes. "I could get used to it," she admitted.

_Of course you could, pumpkin pie,_ the Joker thought to himself.

Dr. Harlequin had apparently decided that she had stayed longer than she should have. The smile vanished from her face, and she gave the Joker a stern look.

"I don't want to see you out of your cell again. Next time, I _will_ tell the guards." She turned and walked away, without so much as a goodbye.

"Harley Quinn!" he called after her.

She stopped and sighed, but didn't turn. "Yes?"

"C'mon, sweets! That name of yours makes me feel like there's someone in this hell-hole that I can talk to." His smile widened. Would she take the bait? "Someone who might understand me and my secrets…"

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. "Goodnight, Mr. Joker," she said. Was that a smile on her lips?

The Joker lay back on his bed. Hmm. She hadn't even thanked him for the flower. Whatever happened to gratitude?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of laughter echoed down the hall after Harley. A shiver ran down her spine, and she found she was grinning despite herself.

_Harley, stop it,_ she told herself. _Don't let him get under your skin._

Still… if he really _did_ open up to her, maybe she could actually help him. She may just be an untested intern, but that in itself could prove an advantage: where older, more experienced psychiatrists might be stuck in their ways, she was able to look upon cases with fresh eyes and new ideas.

Harley Quinn, huh? She smiled. Well. Maybe she _could_ get used to it… especially if it bought her one-on-one interaction with such a high profile case.

This could make her career.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Arkham took off his glasses and peered and the woman sitting across from him.

"When, exactly, did you get the chance to interact with the Joker?"

Harley cursed inwardly. She really didn't want to have to bring up the note, especially as that would raise questions of why she hadn't mentioned it earlier. "I… was exploring," she said sheepishly. "Joan – Dr. Leland – had given me a tour earlier, but I wanted a closer look. I assumed all the inmates would be asleep…"

Arkham shook his head solemnly. "Never assume anything with the criminals here. Assuming something can – and will – get you killed. You have to stay on your toes."

Harley nodded. "So I can see."

Arkham sighed and replaced his glasses on the bridge of is nose. "So, the Joker saw you?"

She nodded again. "Yes. He said he'd heard about me, and that he liked my name."

"Harleen Quinzel?"

Harley gave a self-deprecating smile. "Harley Quinn, he said. Harlequin."

Arkham smiled tightly. "Ah. Of course. Trust him to notice something like that." He opened the file before him – the Joker's – and started leafing through it. "And you think this may actually help you get through to him?"

"I've read his file," Harley said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. "I don't have any real experience with him, but from what I can tell he views all doctors here as the enemy. If he feels he can relate to me in any way, it may go some way to helping make some sort of breakthrough with him."

Dr. Arkham chuckled to himself. "You've set your sights high, Dr. Quinzel."

"They say, sir, that if you aim for the moon, even if you miss, you land among the stars."

"… or you plummet to your death." Arkham looked at her over the top of his glasses. "Are you sure you are prepared for this sort of thing, Dr. Quinzel?"

She shook her head. "Not yet, Dr. Arkham. I'd like to get into my stride with some of the less dangerous inmates first, and really study all I can of the Joker and his work."

Arkham relaxed considerably. He leant back in his chair, folding his hands and resting them on the curve of his belly. "Good," he said. "If you had said you were prepared, I would have forbidden you to go anywhere near him." He considered the matter for several minutes, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "This is it," he said eventually. "After any of our doctors have been working solo and doing well for a few months, we give them a few sessions with one of our more dangerous inmates." He paused. "I'll be honest with you: many of our doctors don't return after those sessions. But some excel. It is my hope that you will be one of those who excel."

"Dr. Arkham, I will do my very best not to disappoint you."

He gave her a tight smile. "Very good. When you are assigned one of our more extreme residents, I will highly recommend that you be assigned to the Joker."

Harley left Arkham's office trying to subdue a sense of elation. She assumed it was due to the faith the asylum's head had in her, but the image of the Joker's smile kept creeping into her mind. She shook her head, dislodging the thought. She had a hard road of research ahead of her before she would win her first session with the clown.

And, of course, she would do her very best to help the inmates she was assigned to in the meantime. That was what she was here to do.


	5. The Beginning

_The problem with developing little eccentricities within a story is that you feel like you have to continue them. Take chapter titles. I was quite happy with the little pattern I had going there. "The noun."_ _It was neat. It was fun. And then we came to this chapter. Chapters six and seven aren't much better, you know. But I really liked my little pattern, so I feel the need to continue it. (Oh god, I'm getting compulsive. This can't end well.)_

_I'm beginning to dislike the way I end my chapters. Maybe I'll start throwing in cliff-hangers or something, add in a little oomph. Or not. Meh._

_And yes, the disclaimer still applies. And will continue to apply throughout the story. But I'm paranoid as well as compulsive so I keep sticking it up there. _

_Thank you everyone for the nice reviews It always makes me smile to know people are enjoying reading this even a fraction as much as I'm enjoying writing it._

"They don't make straight-jackets like they used to. I should know."

* * *

Dr. Harleen Quinzel tapped her pencil against her notepad and sighed quietly to herself. She had been working with this man for just over a month, and she was sure she was getting somewhere with him. 

"An' then I cracked his head open, an' all his brains came out an' stuff, and Jerry said, hey, I wonder what it tastes like…"

She was trying to pay attention, she really was, but tomorrow she would set aside her current patients in favour of only one: the Joker. It would be her first session with the master criminal, and she couldn't remember when she'd last been so excited.

She had spent the last three months pouring over everything she could find on the Joker. Psychiatric files, newspaper clippings, criminal records. She had memorised every trick, every joke, every gimmick. She knew him as well as she possibly could without actually having talked with him, and she knew she was as prepared as she could possibly be.

"Hey lady, are you listening?"

Harley gave her patient a warm smile that touched her eyes. "Of course, Henry. Please, go ahead."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harley pushed the 'down' button on the elevator with a sense of nervous anticipation. Session rooms were on the same level of the hospital as the cells of the inmates they were used for, to save travelling time. The Rogues Gallery, as Harley had begun calling it, was two floors below that of her office.

She arrived in the session room early. It was different from the ones she was used to, and she wanted to become accustomed to the room before the session began.

The ceiling was high, with small windows high on the walls. They were barred. She could barely see the overcast sky through the tiny portals. The walls were the same uncovered stonework as much of the non-public areas of the asylum, and Harley reflected that the builders and renovators had probably left them as they were to enforce a dungeon atmosphere.

In reality, it probably made the psychiatrists feel more edgy and the inmates feel more at home. The irony had her shaking her head.

Despite the high ceilings, the room wasn't really very big, although it was certainly bigger than the other session rooms she had explored. A heavy wooden desk was bolted to the floor at the end nearer the door. A long psychiatrist's couch, complete with leather restraints, sat in the middle of the room. A desk chair sat nearby, the preferable alternative to sitting behind the desk during a session.

Harley set her files on the desk and flicked through them. The light seeping through the tiny windows wasn't enough, and she went to flick on the light switch beside the door. At the moment the fluorescent light flooded the room the heavy metal door creaked open, and a pair of guards entered with the Joker.

She was unprepared for the impact he would have on her. For all the studying she had done, and despite the small distance that had been between them the time that she had visited his cell, she had never been in the same room as him without a barrier between them. His sudden proximity was unexpected, and she realised for the first time how very _real_ he was.

She stared at him. His green hair, thicker than she had imagined, shone in the harsh fluorescent light. His red lips were a sharp contrast to his stark white skin. She imagined she could smell his scent, and squashed the sensation immediately. His eyes were on her, dark and searching, and it sent a faint shiver running through her.

"You okay, Dr. Quinzel?" one of the guards asked her.

Harley smiled at him. "Just fine, Charlie. Is it really necessary to restrain him?"

Charlie gave her a Look. "The folks downstairs may be fine unrestrained like that, ma'am, but these ones are different."

She waved a hand. "Yes, yes, I know. You're right."

The Joker didn't resist as he was bound to the psychiatric couch with the heavy leather restraints. Harley leant back against her desk and watched his face carefully. His expression was one of boredom, but there was a quickness about his eyes that suggested that he was paying quite a bit of attention to the fastening of the restraints about his wrists and ankles.

The guards paused by the door.

"You want us to stick around, Dr. Quinzel?" asked Charlie's companion. "We usually stay at the guard station – you can call us by pushing this button here by the door – but we can stay just outside the door if you like."

Harley shook her head, favouring the guard with a warm smile. "No thank you, Denny. I'll be just fine."

She followed them to the door and closed it carefully behind them. She could feel the Joker's eyes boring into her and found herself savouring the sensation a moment before she turned and smiled at him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Joker."

The Joker gave her a wide, friendly smile. "Why hello, doc. It's so good to see you! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

His intern smiled back, picking a notepad off her desk and taking a seat in the office chair. "I don't think anybody could forget about you, Mr. Joker."

"However did you talk Arkham into letting us play?" His tone was light-hearted, but he paid careful attention to each move she made, each word she spoke.

"I mentioned to him that you rather liked my name," she admitted. "I almost got myself in trouble for talking to you when I shouldn't have been anywhere near you."

"But you got away with it, you clever little minx."

The compliment must have pleased her: she squirmed slightly as if a thrill had run through her. The Joker's smile widened.

Dr. Harlequin cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. "Should we get started?" she asked mildly.

He shrugged as well as he could with his hands bound by his sides.

She crossed one of her legs over the other, and the Joker gave himself a moment to admire the curve of her calves before raising a green eyebrow.

"Anything in particular you'd like to talk about, Doc?"

"I thought perhaps you'd like to talk about your childhood…"

Oh dear. And she'd only just started.

He smirked. "Now now, Doc, we've only just met! Wouldn't you rather spend some time getting to know one another? Where'd you grow up?"

His Dr. Harlequin frowned at him, shaking her head slightly. "I'm not going to get into a "quid pro quo" thing with you, Mr. Joker," she said impassively.

"Awww." The Joker frowned. "And I was _so_ looking forward to getting to know you, Dr. Harley Quinn. I thought we could rather get along."

She hesitated. The Joker watched in satisfaction as she wavered between common sense and her desire to get inside his head. _Yeah, sure, good luck with that one, kid…_

"Alright," she relented. "I suppose we can do that. I'd like you to be comfortable speaking to me."

"Oh, I'm sure I will, Doc." He gave her another wide smile, and was pleased to see her smile slightly in return. "So where'd you grow up?"

She dropped her eyes and tugged slightly at the hemline of her skirt. Apparently she wasn't too comfortable when the attention was focused on her. She was attractive, though: shouldn't she be used to that sort of thing?

"Here and there," she said hesitantly. "My father was in the army. I got moved around a lot."

"Oh?" He kept his features relaxed, but his intense eyes watched her carefully. "Must've been hard."

She shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. I learned a lot, travelling to so many places. When I started high school I went to live with my aunt in Metropolis." She smiled, but the expression wasn't genuine. "Where did _you_ grow up, Mr. Joker?"

Oh no, this wouldn't do at all. The Joker kept smiling despite a sense of growing frustration. Apparently, his Dr. Harlequin wasn't all that good at taking a hint. How to proceed? Aggression was completely out of the question at this point. He elected to go with honesty.

"Nice try, sugar," he said with a vicious grin. "Thought you had me there, didn't you?"

She gave a throaty chuckle. "It was worth a try," she admitted. "Okay then, what _will_ you tell me? If we're getting to know each other, this has to go both ways."

The informal situation was refreshing, and the Joker was pleased to see her relax slightly. He gestured as well as he could towards the desk.

"I suppose you've read my files."

"Of course."

"Well then, I think you already know me better than I know you."

She smirked, looking at him over the top of her glasses. "That only counts if what's written within those files is true."

The Joker was intrigued despite himself. "And what do you think?"

"If I thought they'd figured you out already, I wouldn't be here." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "I suppose you'd like to know what's in there, huh?"

He grinned easily at her. "You can't blame me. Wouldn't _you_ want to know, if it was you?"

She smirked mischievously. "Maybe next time you sneak into people's offices, you should spend your time reading files rather than leaving people roses." Her expression dropped suddenly, as if she realised that she'd just said something she really shouldn't have.

It was true, it really was a silly thing to say. Telling an inmate to read his own file wasn't exactly something they taught you at Shrink School.

The Joker pouted slightly, electing to ignore her slip-up. "Awww. And here was me hoping you'd _like_ the flower. Don't you like roses? Should I have given you something else?"

She coloured slightly. "The rose was beautiful. I don't think I ever thanked you for it… Uh, thank you, Mr. Joker."

"Please, just call me Joker." He fluttered his eyelashes at her. _Won't you let me call you Harley?_

She didn't take the hint. "Okay, Joker." She smiled briefly. "Where'd you get the flower?"

He laughed. "I stole it from Poison Ivy!"

She giggled, and a strange warmth stirred in him at the sound.

"You didn't! Did you? What did she say?"

The Joker was almost bouncing in his seat, instantly energized by her sudden enthusiasm. How long had it been since someone hung on his words quite like this?

"Oh, she was _furious_!" he laughed. "You should have heard her! She screamed so loud they could hear her in Metropolis!"

"Ohhh, _that's_ what that was!"

The Joker was surprised at how much he enjoyed the session, once Dr. Harlequin had relaxed and started smiling in earnest. He'd told her that he felt they could get along rather well, but he hadn't actually expected that to be the case. As their hour progressed, he found he had to fake his responses less and less often. The only issue was occasionally keeping his temper in check; it was an exercise he rarely had the need to employ, and it wasn't all that easy remembering to keep the mood light.

He was startled to hear a knock on the heavy steel door.

"Dr. Quinzel?" One of the guards poked his head through the door. "Your hour was up ten minutes ago."

She gasped and looked at her watch. "Oh, I'm sorry, Charlie! I'm afraid I lost track of time. Have you been out there all this time?"

"It's no trouble, ma'am," the one she'd called Charlie replied.

The Joker made one of his best pouts and looked up at his psychiatrist as she stood. "Our time's up already? Say it ain't so, Doc!"

She gave him a real, genuine smile. "I'll see if I can schedule another session for later this week. Have a good day, Joker."

The Joker let the guards man-handle him down the hallway towards his cell. He considered the past hour, and the development of The Plan.

It was going well. Astonishingly well. The restrained Dr. Quinzel, initially suspicious of his intentions, had relaxed considerably over the course of the hour, and now seemed rather comfortable around him. Another session, perhaps, and then he would start "opening up" to the girl. It was only a matter of time now before she was his.

He briefly considered sending her another rose, but dismissed the idea. All the same, a small gesture at this point…

"Say, Charlie boy," said the Joker as the other guard opened the door to his cell, "how'd you like to do a little favour for me?"

The guards exchanged glances. Charlie gave the other man a nod, and Denny made his way back to the guard station.

"What do you want, clown?" Charlie asked warily.

"Oh, nothing much, Charlie, ol' chum. I'd just like you to make a little delivery for me."

Each of the prisoners was allowed some paper and charcoal, in case they felt like some mild artistic expression. Pencils, pens and other writing materials were right out of the question, but they made do with charcoal.

The Joker took a small piece of paper and scratched a quick note. He folded it twice, and handed it to Charlie with a cheerful smile.

"Who's this for?" Charlie asked, taking the note with some trepidation.

"Why, for our pretty new doctor, of course!" he said with a flourish. "Just congratulating her on a job well done." His smile changed to a hard, warning expression. "And don't you go reading other people's mail, Charlie. It's not polite."

Charlie locked the clown away and slipped upstairs towards Dr. Quinzel's office. He did consider reading the note, but he didn't quite trust the clown not to find out. Better safe than sorry.

The young psychiatrist hadn't returned to her office. Charlie shrugged and slipped it under the door. It wasn't like he was paid to be a delivery boy. Besides, he was due for a coffee break.

* * *

_As you may (or may not) have noticed, about halfway through the session I switched POVs. I'm not exactly sure how well that worked. I'm rather fond of the third-person POV rather than a sort of eye-of-god narrative. It's entertaining to explore the reactions of characters through the eyes of another character, and with a fixed third person narrative there's a little bit less mess. _

_Any feedback on the POV-switch would be appreciated, even if it's just a few words like "it worked" or "you failed". _


	6. The Analysis

_You know, I had this idea. It amused me. But I can't work out how to insert strike-throughs in (If there is a way, please tell me.)  
The idea was, you see, that any time in Joker-oriented narration that a word contained the letters "bat" that did not actually directly relate to the batman, the word would be struck and followed by a synonym. I thought it was cute, you know. The Joker immediately dismissing any word containing any possible relationship to the word "bat". But no. rejected my happy strike-through. As a result, chapter five ended up with a weird synonym repetition thing in the middle until I checked it and removed it. _

_mutter _

_Blah blah, disclaimer, blah blah, don't own, blah. _

* * *

Harley took her time clearing up after the session. Her mind buzzed, astonished with how quickly the time had passed, how at-ease she had felt. Her initial nervousness had melted away as she and the Joker had talked, conversation coming easily.

She had intended for her first session to be a proper psychiatric evaluation, but amongst it all she had forgotten that they were in an asylum, one a doctor and the other tied to the couch. They had chatted like old friends.

Now she found herself without a decent record of the session. She sat behind the desk, her notepad in hand, and tried to make some notes of the time they had spent together.

_Joker shows astounding friendliness, but refuses to speak about himself until a rapport has been established._

Even the most casual scan through the Joker's file turned up account after account of psychiatrists scared out of their wits or brutally beaten by the Joker after only a few sessions. He point-blank refused to speak to most people, and when he did he usually regaled them with tales of his latest clash with Batman. His willingness to talk with her had been a pleasant reassurance that she had made the right choice.

_He is quick to note any possible subject changes that bring conversation back to his past or psyche, and will call you on it._

More than once during their conversation she had asked him about his youth or something in particular about himself, and he had stopped and scolded her in a jovial tone.

"Naughty girl, you've done it again! Don't think you're going to get me to open up that easy!"

If only she could remember what questions those had been. Truthfully, she hadn't noticed them after the first time as she somehow, as they talked, stopped thinking of him as a patient, merely as a new friend she was trying to get to know.

Harley shook her head. She couldn't allow this to continue too much longer... and yet, the session had gone so well that she would hate to think that this was her only chance. For an intern, she felt she had done pretty well, especially given reports of the last intern to grace the halls of Arkham. The poor man was alive and relatively sane, given the circumstances, but he would never work in psychiatry again.

Harley added a final note to her short assessment.

_It may take another session to establish the… I hesitate to use the word trust… the connection that the Joker feels is necessary to proceed. I shall, if permitted, be happy to continue with all due caution._

She signed it, then made a copy for her own files. She would submit it to Joan Leland at the end of the day, and hope for the best.

It felt strange to write about him as "the Joker", she reflected as she gathered up her files and tucked her pen into her lab coat pocket. Most patients here had genuine names: Pamela Isely, Prof. Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch… the Joker had no verifiable name, only a list of aliases, the most recent (and popular) being Jack Napier. She rather liked the name, but had been warned against using it.

"Don't call him Jack, or Mr. Napier, or anything of the sort," Joan had warned her. "He absolutely hates it. It's not his name, as he takes pains to point out, and we really have no idea what is. He calls himself the Joker and we just started doing the same."

Harley opened the door of her office, her mind buzzing, and crossed the floor to set her files on her desk. She turned back to close the door, and noticed a folded slip of paper on the floor.

She picked it up, curious, ignoring the faint hope that it was from her patient. She had watched the guards lead him back down the hall to his cell; there was no way he could have escaped. She unfolded it with fingers that shook ever so slightly.

_Had a great time, see you again soon – J._

Short and sweet. Harley smiled. She folded it again, carefully, and slipped it into a small, secret pocket of her handbag where she had put his first note, sent three long months ago.

She knew that she should tell someone. Dr. Arkham, or at least Joan. But somehow the idea of telling someone was repellent to her, like revealing a good friend's secret.

She was still smiling. Still smiling, at a tiny little note, like some lovesick teenager! How did he even get it to her?

The guards. Harley got to her feet and went downstairs to the guard station.

"Charlie?"

The blond guard looked up from the surveillance monitors in front of him.

"Dr. Quinzel!" He got to his feet. "Did you get the Joker's note?"

"You let him upstairs?" she accused, her gaze steady.

The big man laughed. "You crazy? Hell no! I'd never do that, ma'am, never you fear." He grinned at her. "Nah, I delivered the note up myself. You weren't there, so I just slipped it under your door." The smile left his face, his forehead furrowing slightly with concern. "It wasn't a threatening note, was it, ma'am? I didn't read it myself – didn't like to, see – but he seemed quite content after your session, I didn't think he'd be threatening you – "

"Oh, no, Charlie," she put a hand on the man's forearm to reassure him. "It wasn't like that. It didn't say much of anything really, just that he'd like another session. It wasn't the least bit threatening."

The guard relaxed. "Well, that's good." Something else troubling occurred to him, and he smiled nervously. "Here, uh, you wouldn't mind not mentioning this to Doc Arkham, would ya? We do little favours like that for the inmates sometimes – keeps em happy, less work for us. But I'm not sure that the boss would be too pleased about it."

Harley smirked. "Don't worry, Charlie, I have no plans to tell anyone about the note. I won't say anything if you won't, alright?"

"Fine by me, Dr. Quinzel!" He grinned with relief.

"And don't be afraid to bring up any more notes from the Joker. I don't think he has plans to start threatening me."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was with only a little satisfaction that Harley delivered her analysis to Joan Leland that evening.

"It's not much," she admitted, handing over the newest addition to the Joker's file. "I feel like I should have accomplished much more."

Joan read the short account. She looked up, stared steadily at Harley for half a minute, and read it again.

"Do you mean to tell me," she said, putting a hand to her temple, "that the Joker actually _talked_ to you?"

Harley tried not to sound a bit smug. "Yes, he did. I was hoping he would, given his reaction to –"

"Yes, we know he likes your name, Harley, but…" Joan read the account again, flabbergasted. "We honestly didn't expect you to get anything from him."

Harley frowned. "I didn't," she admitted. "Nothing noteworthy, at least. We spent an hour talking but we didn't say anything much."

Something seemed to occur to Joan, and she gave her young intern a sharp look. "You didn't tell him anything about yourself, did you? That sort of information could be incredibly dangerous in the hands of the Joker."

"I was careful," Harley lied. "I won't tell him anything he can use." Inwardly, she groaned. _Stupid stupid stupid stupid… How did he talk me into that?  
_

"Hmm." Joan reread the notes for the fourth time. "Well, Harley, I do have to say that I'm astonished. He's never acted in quite this way before. This is something very new, incredibly valuable information."

Harley beamed at the praise. "Would it be possible to have another session with him?"

"I basically insist," Joan said, slipping the notes back into the file and leaning back in her chair. "We have to assume that he's lying about opening up after establishing some sort of bond with you. In all likelihood, he's fishing for information to help him hurt you in some way, but you're an intelligent woman and as long as you're wary of that, I'd be very interested to see where this takes us." She leaned forward again. "Harley, there's the slight possibility that, once he's discovered you're not going to tell him anything, he will get aggressive. I need for you to be prepared for that sort of thing."

Harley nodded. "I will be, Joan."

She left the older woman's office feeling pensive. Aggressive? The Joker? Despite all she had read and all she knew about him, it was somehow difficult to reconcile his violence with the cheerful, friendly man she had spoken with that afternoon.

_Don't be a fool, Harley. You _know_ what he's like. Don't fall for it._

With a sigh, Harley stepped out into the cool evening air. Her first session had gone well; it would do her good to set work aside and relax for the evening. Without thinking about the Joker.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was because she hadn't dated in high school, Harley told herself.

She had spent the evening channel-surfing with a bowl of microwave popcorn beside her. It was this sort of relaxed night in that she had indulged in on the rare occasions that she gave herself a full evening off from her activities, be they schoolwork, research, or training at the gym. She usually enjoyed it: time to sit back, perhaps with some friends or perhaps alone, and forget the world with a movie and some snacks.

Tonight was different, however. Every time she got into a movie or TV show her mind drifted back to the Joker. At first, she told herself that she was just finding it difficult to let go of work and enjoy some "me time", but as the night progressed she realised that she wasn't thinking about the Joker's file or analysing how he had behaved. She was thinking about his easy laughter, his tall thin frame, his intense gaze. The notes she still had tucked away in her bag. The rose that she had dried and kept in an empty crystal vase in her study (telling herself that it was only because the flower was so pretty and nothing to do with who it was from…).

It _had_ to be her lack of dating experience. Why else would the Joker's attention be affecting her like this? She wasn't really the dating sort... It certainly wasn't for lack of offers, mind, but she was always busy. Gym practice, school, then university and med school… The only real relationship she had had – save for a summer fling in her freshman year – was with another student in her criminal psychiatry class. The relationship had lasted two years, and they had parted on good terms.

She thought back on it fondly: she and Marvon had been passionate about the same subjects, and their relationship had been filled with friendly competition. Each was always trying to do better than the other… they had studied together, worked on the same experiments, proofread one another's thesis. But it couldn't last… each wanted an internship at a different asylum. Knowing a long-distance relationship wouldn't work, they had downgraded to a close friendship over a year previous.

Harley tried once again to concentrate on the movie she was watching. It was Gremlins 2, one of her personal favourites, but tonight she just couldn't get into it properly. With a sigh she turned it off, tossing the remote aside. Screw it.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose where her glasses had sat most of the day. A hot shower might relax her nerves and ease the knots that were building in her shoulders. Then… hell, there was no way she was going to be able to concentrate on a book. May as well just try to get some sleep. Hopefully in the morning this silliness would have dissipated, and she could concentrate properly again.

The shower was bliss. Harley stood in the hot spray, turning slightly as rivulets of water ran down her back. It felt so good to be warm, wet and naked. How long since she'd lingered in the shower? Too long…

She could have spent an hour in there – hell, she could have spent two. As it was, she had no idea how long she had spent in the hot, steamy shower. It was a meditative experience and did wonders to clear her mind. When she finally opened her eyes and roused herself from her reverie, her skin was wrinkled and puckered and she could barely see through the steam that clouded up her bathroom.

Harley giggled quietly to herself as she towelled off. That had been _so_ relaxing. She really should indulge in that sort of thing more often.

She slipped between her sheets without bothering to pull on her pyjamas, and sank instantly into a dreamless slumber.

* * *


	7. The Tension

_Problem #104 with writing Joker fanfics: there's only so many goddamn ways to say "smile". _

_Problem #104b: there's only so many goddamn ways to say "laugh"._

_Problem #075: No matter how you try, the phrase "he laughed" can never truly invoke the awesome that is Mark Hamill. _

_Problem #008: The further into the Joker's brain you try to go, the more you get the feeling that you are going slowly insane._

_Problem #005 with making lists like this: you start feeling like you should be using the Official Discordian Numbering System. And then you recall that the Principia Discordia says "There are no rules, anywhere", and wonder vaguely if the Joker is a follower of Eris. And then the plotbunnies pop up and say "Hey man, the Principia Discordia is Kopyleft, All Rites Reversed. You can totally use as much of it as you want. FTW!" and you start having mad ideas of a young Jack Napier stumbling across a certain yellow book… 0.o Hmm. _

_You may have to wait a while for Chapter Eight. Longer than you have been recently, anyways. This is on account of Chapter Eight being filled with Drama, and writing it drove me slightly insane, so massive rewrites may be necessary before I decide it is ready to post. Plus, of course, I'm working on Chapter Nine, so I'm not sure when Eight will be ready. _

_Don't own, don't sue.  
_

* * *

"So, I hear you got the intern." 

The Joker, stretched out across one of the day room couches, looked up from his newspaper into the twisted features of Harvey Dent.

"So I did, Harv'," he said, his voice low and self-satisfied.

"How'd you swing that one, clown?" The gruff man dropped down onto the other end of the couch and gave him a suspicious look.

The Joker took the time to fold his newspaper in half and dropped it to the floor. "Why, _elementary_, Harv'. I just ensured that I was the very best choice." He smiled. "Besides, you _know_ I'm every intern's wet dream. They'd give their right arm for a chance to talk to _me_." He narrowed his eyes smugly. "She probably just waved that pretty ass of hers in little Jeremiah's direction and he gave her whatever she asked for."

Two Face seemed unconvinced, but evidently decided to drop the subject. "You're repulsive," he said, a disgusted expression contorting the features on the unscarred half of his face.

The Joker gave Two Face a cheery smile and a wave as the tall man stood, turned his back on the Clown Prince of crime and went to speak with the Riddler.

The Joker met Nygma's eyes, and grinned. The man, arm in a cast and sling, frowned and turned away. My, didn't they all look jealous?

Professor Crane approached the couch, leaning his arms on the back and giving him a nod.

"Joker."

The Joker smiled up at him. "Jonny. How's things?"

"I hear you got the new intern."

He smirked, putting his arms behind his head stretching his legs out along the couch. "That I did."

The man known as the Scarecrow smirked and raised an eyebrow slightly. "I hear she's still here. Having trouble scaring the little girl, are we? Like a little help?"

The Joker sat up with frightening speed, bring his face up barely an inch from the Scarecrow's.

"Oh, I don't know, Jonny," he said mildly. "I thought I'd keep her around awhile. She's easy on the eyes, you know – easier than your last intern, at least." He cackled, pleased to see the Scarecrow's self-satisfied look change to one of anger.

Crane turned and left without a word. The Joker sank back down onto his cushion and picked up his paper again.

"Ha! That Garfield cracks me up."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Joker awaited his escort, a smug smile plastered across his face. Today was his second session with miss Harley Quinn, and instead of the irritation he usually felt at having to spend time with a shrink, he was rather looking forward to it. It was an agreeable by-product of The Plan that he hadn't anticipated.

Ah, his escort had arrived. He gave Charlie and that other fellow a cheery smile and bounced to his feet.

"Ah, there you are, boys," he said, clicking his heels together. "I've been waiting for you."

Oh, look at them fret! Poor fellows! The Joker giggled to himself. It was true that he wasn't usually so eager to head into his sessions, but really, they should have learned to expect the unexpected with him by now. He narrowed his eyes, enjoying the moment.

"Well then, shall we?"

Charlie opened his cell and they each took an arm. The guards held him tightly, as always; almost – but not quite – tight enough to bruise.

The Joker walked serenely between them, humming his favourite tune quietly to himself. The guards exchanged looks behind his head, clearly uneasy. It made him smile.

The heavy steel door of the session room swung open, and the Joker stepped sprightly into the room, looking about for his pretty blonde shrink.

He froze.

The smile disappeared from his face, and rage flamed up within him.

Behind Dr. Harlequin's desk sat one Jeremiah Arkham.

The Joker looked up at Charlie with a vicious snarl. "_Take me back to my cell! NOW!"_

Dr. Arkham looked up, paling slightly. "Ah, Joker. No, no, don't move, fellows… I'll be out of your way in a minute…" He quickly cleared up his files, giving Charlie and Denny an apologetic smile. "Sorry, lost track of time." He met the Joker's fiercely glowering eyes and attempted a weak smile. "I'm – I'm sure Dr. Quinzel will be along in a moment."

On cue, Harley's voice rang out in greeting from down the hall.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, slipping into the room. She beamed.

Dr. Arkham gave her a look that said _better you than me_, and beat a hasty retreat.

Harley pursed her dark lips slightly, taking in the rigid set of the guards' shoulders and the almost palpable tension in the air. "Is something wrong?"

Charlie hesitated. "Ah, well…"

"Not at _all_, Dr. Quin_zel_," the Joker said, a wide smile returning to his face. "We were just exchanging pleasantries with Dr. Arkham, weren't we, Chuck?"

Charlie looked down at the clown, then across at Denny, who shrugged. "Uh, I suppose," he said warily. "Come on, Joker."

The Joker let the guards man-handle him towards the psychiatric couch. They were being somewhat rougher than he felt was really necessary, and he let out exaggerated expressions of pain at every sharp tug.

"Aww, stop your whining," Charlie said, fastening the final restraint about the clown's ankle. The big guard looked over at the pretty doctor with concern in his eyes, and the Joker felt a bitter anger stirring in his veins.

"You sure you want to be alone with him today?" Charlie was asking her. _The nerve._ "He's acting a little weird, even for him."

"I'll be fine, thank you, Charlie," she told him, waving both guards out the door.

She closed it tight behind them and turned to lean against it, blowing air up across her forehead.

"Something wrong, Doc?" the Joker asked mildly.

Harley shook her head. "Not at all, Joker," she told him. "I'm just catching my breath. I lost track of time and had to run down here."

"Oh?" The Joker stretched out his toes, his tone light and almost bored. "What were you doing?"

"Reading your file, as it happens," she said, smirking, as if she knew it was what he wanted to hear. He tensed, but relaxed as he noticed a faint colour rising to her cheeks. She was telling the truth.

He gave her a long, slow smile. "Did you enjoy it?"

"I always do," she said, pulling up the office chair and scooting it a little closer to him. "I've pretty much memorised it by now."

The Joker narrowed his eyes at her. "You're teasing."

She just smiled in response. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about today?"

The Joker looked up at the ceiling, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. He could sense her eagerness, her hope that he would decide to start telling her his 'secrets'. Haha, not quite yet.

"Can't we talk a little more?" he asked her, his voice soft and wheedling. "C'mon, toots, we were just getting comfy last time when that big ill-bred lummox interrupted us."

"That 'big ill-bred lummox' was kind enough to deliver a message for you," she reminded him, giving him a reproachful look over the top of her glasses.

The Joker grinned back at her. "You got it, then? Good! I was worried our Chuckster might have delivered it to the wrong office." He raised an eyebrow slightly, watching Harley's face. "Like Dr. Arkham's, for instance."

"I'm glad he didn't," she admitted. "If he had done, and Dr. Arkham had discovered that I'd received a note from you before without telling him…" She shrugged. "I'd be in trouble. I would have been dismissed from your case at the very least."

"And I wouldn't want to get you in trouble," the Joker said, his voice earnest. "Then we wouldn't have any more time to play!"

Dr. Harlequin pursed her lips together, and looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Is that why everyone was so uneasy earlier? Were you annoyed to find Dr. Arkham here, and not me?"

Damn silly girl thought she was clever.

"Well _of course_, Doctor Quinn," he replied, his eyes wide and innocent. "Who wouldn't be unhappy, expecting to see a pretty little thing like you, and instead coming face to face with Jeremiah?" He made a face, and was delighted to hear her stifle a giggle at his expression.

Harley resettled her glasses. She looked as if she wanted to probe a little deeper, but instead she shrugged and wrinkled her pretty little nose. "Don't call me 'Dr. Quinn'," she asked him. "It makes me think 'medicine woman' every time somebody says it."

The Joker laughed. "Sorry, doc. It's just that to me, you'll always be 'Harley Quinn'. You don't _really_ mind it, do you?"

She wrinkled her nose again in distaste. "Harley Quinn I can live with – just," she said. "Dr. Quinn? Not so much."

The Joker dropped his voice a little deeper and adopted a pseudo-seductive tone. "I don't suppose you'd let me call you Harley?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows up and down.

She giggled again, but shook her head. "I think that we can stick with 'Doc' for the meantime, don't you, Joker?"

He didn't, but it was better than nothing. "Sure, doc, anything you say!"

"Well then, shall we get started?"

They spoke for five minutes about small, meaningless things. The subjects had been easy conversation before, but somehow, they were missing the sense of camaraderie that they had enjoyed in their last session. She was more restrained, almost as if she was intentionally holding back. The Joker probed at her with a couple of jests and some light-hearted questions, and she smiled and answered well enough, but she didn't show the openness that she had done before.

He lost his patience after she had barely more than smiled at one of his jokes. He frowned sternly.

"Have I done something to upset you?" he asked her in an overly sweet tone of voice. "You don't seem quite _yourself_ today, Doc."

The little psychiatrist sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She removed her glasses, pulling out a cloth and polishing them as she spoke.

"I had a talk with Joan Leland yesterday," Harley explained, eyes focused on her fingers as she cleaned her glasses. "She warned me not to tell you anything about myself. You could use the information against me."

"But you knew that already," the Joker pointed out. "Didn't they teach you that sort of thing at Shrink School?" He nodded to her glasses as she tucked her polishing cloth away. "Leave 'em off, you look less serious without them on."

She smiled, and walked across the room to place them safely on the desk. "Do you like that?" she asked as she returned to her chair. "When people look less serious, I mean."

"I like the way _you_ look _all_ the time," the Joker assured her with a lecherous grin, "but you have a certain something without those specs hiding away your baby blues. Something a little more… carefree."

She even seemed to be feeling less reserved without them on. Without her glasses to hide behind, her emotions showed through a little more clearly, as if by removing them she had removed a barrier between herself and the world.

She brushed an imaginary stray hair from in front of her face and blushed slightly. "Do you think so?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly from its usual professional tone. "I don't really need them, I'm only a little bit long-sighted… I just read so much during the day that my eyes are always tired by evening."

"Well, you won't be doing much reading in here," the Joker reminded her with a smile. "May as well leave them off, hmm?"

"I suppose so." She dropped her gaze to her notepad again, tapping the end of her pencil against the paper. Still quiet? Irritating girl.

"You know," the Joker told her, "you've already told me quite a bit about yourself. It's too late to worry about it now, don't you think, Doc?"

"This is true, Joker, but I'm really not sure I feel comfortable – "

"You felt comfortable enough the other day," he interrupted with a pout. "I'll bet you still feel comfortable now. You're just trying to tell yourself that you're not _meant_ to feel comfortable." He smiled. "Just like you're not meant to receive notes from dangerous patients."

She was fighting it, he could see it in her eyes. She probably hadn't broken any rules in years. Teacher's pet, top of her class… poor girl was being crushed by the heavy constructs that Society had tried to program her with. But Harley – the _real_ Harley – was still there, under all of that corporate mess, and she was bubbling up from underneath. And the Rules were trying to keep that from happening.

She was giving him a slow, appraising look. Ah, he could see her so much better without those damn glasses. He could look right through into her soul.

"Would you kill me?" she asked him suddenly. "If I were to release your restraints, right now, would you kill me?"

He blinked, his expression affronted. "Me? Kill you? Why, I would _never!_"

She crossed one leg over the other and straightened her back slightly. "I know you could, you've done it before. I've read the reports of the doctors you've killed in this very room."

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah… just because I _could_ doesn't mean I _would_, though, right?" He blinked innocently at her.

At last Harley let out a sigh of defeat and tossed her notepad to the floor. "Fine. You're right. I've already told you enough about me, what could anything more do? You could kill me whether you knew anything or not. Hell, I knew that when I applied for this job, let alone took you on." She leant forward slightly, her eyes focused on him. "I decided long ago that talking to you – to any of you – would be worth the risk. I'm not going to change my mind now just because Joan's paranoid I'm going to wind up dead."

The Joker laughed in triumph. "Ha! Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh Doc?"

She pursed her lips. "Hmm, yeah, and don't let me down on that one, huh? There's only so many of these 'just talking' sessions that my superiors are going to let us have."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Doc. Say, whatever happened to that boyfriend you were telling me about the other day? You never did finish that story."

"Who, Marvon? Oh, we decided that we'd be better off as friends…."

* * *


	8. The Disclosure

_This chapter wasn't an easy one to write. Yes, it is _the_ session. The one you were expecting about three chapters ago. Harley's POV was an obvious choice, and this session is something of a turning point for her as a character. The lines where the Joker tells Harls his story are taken almost exactly from Mad Love. (You'll recognize the lines. I didn't write em. Not mine, etc. Plz don't sue, original writers!)_

_It took me about five edits to get it to this state and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's not going to get much better, so here it is. _

_Disclaaaaimerrrrr... I don't own Batman, Mad Love, scenes therein or those lines I mentioned! Don't sue plz, kthx!  
_

* * *

Harley arrived in the session room a few minutes early, not wanting a repeat of last time. Whatever had happened, it had troubled Charlie and Dr. Arkham had given her a strange look later that afternoon, as if he hadn't expected her to still be breathing. She took off her glasses and set them down on the desk. 

The past few days had been spent in a flurry of Joker-related research. The files and newspaper clippings that filled her office and, increasingly, her study at home, were no longer enough to satisfy her fascination. It worried her, slightly, but she explained away her growing obsession with the Joker as a normal interest in a patient. Harley was, after all, a fairly single-minded woman. When something interested her, she pursued it to the exclusion of nearly everything else. This was clearly just an extension of that same sort of passion. The Joker was currently her only patient, it was natural that she think about him often.

Still, the mosaic of Joker pictures adorning her bedroom wall was probably going a bit far.

When the heavy door swung open, Harley's face lit up.

"Hiya, doc!" The Joker smiled cheerfully at her. "How's tricks?"

Harley barely noticed the guards, who led her patient into the room and added their own greetings. "Good afternoon, Joker!" she beamed. "I hope your weekend went well."

He stared at her for a second before starting to laugh. His guards, attempting to bind him to the psychiatric couch, ducked his suddenly twisting limbs.

"Quit it!" Charlie yelled, grabbing a leg and tightening the leather restraints around his ankle.

Harley winced as the guard pulled the straps: he was fastening them tight enough to pinch at the Joker's skin. Despite the pain it must be causing him, he continued to laugh.

"Good luck, Dr. Quinzel," Denny said as he fastened a restraint with a complete lack of sympathy for the patient. "He's likely as not to just keep laughing."

"I didn't _mean_ to say something funny," Harley said, mostly to herself. "I honestly wanted to know."

Denny shrugged. "Yeah, well… one day's pretty much like any other for the inmates, you know? It's not all that much fun, either. See you in an hour, Dr. Quinzel."

She took at seat and watched the Joker with fascination. She wondered, in a bemused sort of way, how he managed to breathe.

His laughter abruptly subsided to giggles, and he grinned at her. "You _honestly_ wanted to know?" he teased.

"What?" Harley shrugged a shoulder. "I can't ask how your weekend went?"

"Why, Doc, I didn't know you cared!"

She attempted a smile. "Well, I _am_ your doctor. I'm _supposed_ to care about your welfare."

The Joker chuckled. "You know, you're probably the only shrink in this place who still believes that."

Harley was slightly taken aback. "And does that trouble you?"

He shrugged, grimacing as the movement caused the heavy leather straps to cut into his flesh. He muttered a few curses, frowning mightily as he shifted in his seat in an effort to relieve the discomfort.

Harley frowned, disturbingly upset to see him so uncomfortable. Her forehead furrowed in concern. "Are you alright?"

The Joker gave a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, I'll survive," he lamented. "One has to expect this sort of thing when one is a prisoner, after all."

"It must be terrible," Harley said softly.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Well, being bound to a piece of furniture doesn't exactly _increase_ its ergonomic qualities, sweets."

"I meant – never mind." She shook her head slightly. "Well, um, should we get started? Is there anything else you want to know?"

He smiled widely at her. "Listen, Doc, we know each other pretty well now, don't you think?"

Excitement surged through her. Was he actually going to tell her something about himself? Right now? Harley fought the urge to squeal. She hadn't been this happy since… actually, had she ever been this happy?

She attempted to subdue her glee – after all, he might just be toying with her – but she couldn't help a wide smile stretching across her face. "I think so," she told him. "Um, what do you think?"

He pursed his lips slightly in thought. "Well, I'd _like_ to think I could trust you…"

"Of course you can trust me, Joker," Harley said with a reassuring smile. "I'm your doctor."

"I've had lots of doctors." He arched a green brow. "Do you trust _me_, Dr. Harley Quinn?"

"Yes," she answered without thinking. _I shouldn't!_ she told herself, biting the inside of her lip. _I shouldn't trust him. I mustn't.__But… _

He was watching her with large, doubtful eyes. "You trust me?"

She nodded. "I do."

He shifted again, and winced as the edge of a leather strap cut into the white skin of his wrist. He growled at the back of his throat, glaring at the strap as if it had personally offended him. Harley couldn't keep from staring at the small drops of blood that beaded on his skin, the bright red a vibrant contrast.

He was looking at her. Harley tore her eyes away from his wrist to meet his eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

He made a sort of mewling, whimpering sound and gave her a pathetic look. "Would you loosen these for me?" he asked plaintively. "Come on," he said when she hesitated, "you said you trusted me."

"I do, but…" She sighed. She gave the Joker a long, steady look, gauging his honesty. He _seemed_ genuine… and the look of pain on his face was something that she just couldn't cope with. "Alright," she said, getting to her feet. "Just… don't make me regret this."

Harley knelt beside the psychiatric couch and reached forward. Her hands trembled slightly as she tugged at the wide leather restraints. She imagined she could hear him breathing, and when she unintentionally brushed his skin with a finger it sent a thrill through her that made her blush bright red.

The restraint slipped open and the Joker lifted his hand, flexing his fingers and examining the small cut on the top of his wrist. He caught her eye, and offered her the hand with a smile.

"Want to kiss it better?"

Harley couldn't resist the grin that curved her lips. The chance to touch him again overpowered her common sense. She took his hand in hers and deftly bestowed a kiss to the hurt. The warmth of his skin surprised her; he was so pale, she had always half-imagined his skin would be cold. But of course not, why would it?

He was smirking at her, barely able to contain his delight at something.

"What?"

"You have something on your lip."

Instinctively she licked her lips, tasting copper. She realised with a shock that it was his blood. The look he was giving her now was _really_ strange, and she ducked her head. She was still holding his hand, and tried to lower it back towards the restraints, but he snatched it away with a violence that reminded Harley just what he was capable of.

He turned docile immediately, fixing her with yet another sorrowful look. "Can't you leave them off?" he asked, his voice soft and imploring. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

Harley relented. "Well, alright." She stood, walking backwards to her chair and watching as he dextrously unfastened the rest of his restraints.

The Joker swung his legs around to the side of the couch, twisting his wrists and ankles around to restore his circulation. Being in a room with him unrestrained was exhilarating, and Harley felt her breath come a little faster as he stood and stretched.

The Joker fixed her with a broad grin and plopped back down onto the couch. "What's wrong, Doc?" he asked with cheerful concern. "Scaaared?"

Harley risked a smile. "Not at all, Joker," she said, unsure herself whether what she was feeling was fear or excitement.

He didn't seem to mind. He lay back down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands on his stomach. He looked so _relaxed_, so content just to _be_, that Harley found herself smiling at him almost dreamily.

He looked up at her and grinned again, and she blushed.

"Got your notebook with you, Doc?"

Harley's eyebrows shot up. "You're actually going to talk to me?"

The Joker pouted. "You mean you doubted me?" He clutched a hand to his chest, the other flung dramatically above his head. "I am _wounded._"

Harley giggled, jumping to her feet. She positively _skipped_ over to the desk to retrieve her notepad, realising only as she returned that she had turned her back on the Joker. She smiled wryly to herself: Joan would be absolutely horrified if she knew.

She sat on her office chair, lowering it slightly so that her eyes were a little more level with the Joker's own. She waited silently as he stared at the ceiling, apparently collecting his thoughts. She touched her pen to paper as he started to speak.

The Joker sighed softly. "You know, my father used to beat me up pretty badly."

Harley's head shot up and she stared at him in horror. Her chest tightened painfully as he spoke, and she struggled to keep from tearing up.

"Any time I got out of line, WHAM!" Harley ducked instinctively as the Joker punched the air in emphasis. He kept talking, his voice coming faster and faster, laden with an unfamiliar melancholic tone. "Sometimes I'd be just sitting there, doing nothing! POW! Ol' Pop tended to favour the grape, ya see…"

Harley clenched her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. She couldn't keep the emotion from her face, and didn't try; all her attention was focused on the Joker. "U-uh huh…"

"The only time I remember seeing my ol' dad really happy was when he took me to the circus when I was a kid." The memory recalled a smile to his face, and he stood, pacing about as he navigated the choppy seas of Nostalgia. "Ah, I still remember the clowns, running around, dropping their pants…" He chuckled.

Harley, remembering that she was a psychiatrist, began jotting down notes. The return to a lighter tone was a relief, so much so that she barely noticed that her patient was walking about the room.

He was getting really into his story now, and his enthusiasm was infectious. Harley found herself smiling again as she watched the Joker re-enact his anecdote.

"My pop laughed so hard, I thought he'd bust a gut!" He laughed at the memory, his voice speeding up again in his eagerness. "So the very next night, I came running up to him with his best pair of pants around my ankles. 'Hey, dad! Look at meee!'"

He stopped in front of Harley and dropped his pants, and she, now truly lifted up out of her maudlin mood, started laughing in delight at his antics.

"…and then I took this huge pratfall, and ripped the crotch right out of his pants!"

He burst out laughing, and she laughed with him, until her ribs hurt and tears started forming at the corners of her eyes.

The Joker spoke. "And then he broke my nose," he said whimsically, pulling Harley up short.

She stared at the man standing a foot away from her with his pants around his ankles, feeling as if she had just run into a brick wall. The tears in her eyes began to trickle down her cheeks.

The Joker didn't seem to notice. He pulled up his pants and waved a hand dismissively as he sat back down on the psychiatric couch.

"That's the downside of comedy, toots," he said, swinging his legs up and putting his arms behind his head. "Some people just don't get the joke." He sighed.

"Like your dad?" Harley said, sniffling and wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"Yeah." The Joker's visage darkened suddenly. "And Batman."

Harley watched him and considered this, trying to ignore the emotions that had settled on her chest. Was this really a primary cause of the Joker's enmity with Batman? He _did_ seem an unemotional sort of person, unlikely to find fun in much of anything. She made a mental note to talk to the Dark Knight the next time he brought someone in.

She scribbled down some of what the Joker had told her, trying – and failing – to distance herself from it emotionally. He hadn't spoken again; he seemed to be ruminating on something. From the twisted, hate-filled expression on his face, it was probably something about Batman.

Mentioning the man on whom the Joker placed blame for his disfigurement was generally considered a bad idea, but Harley would do anything at this point to change the subject to something less dismal. Her chest was aching.

"So, uh… Perhaps you'd like to talk about the Batman?"

The silence stretched, the tension tangible.

"Batman?" The Joker's voice rose dangerously. "BATMAN?!"

This may have been a mistake.

The Joker stood and stalked about the room, ranting loudly and gesticulating wildly. Harley jumped to her feet, terrified that someone would hear and take alarm. She instinctively wanted to quiet him: if someone burst in now, and saw him free...

"Joker… JOKER!"

She jumped over the couch, stumbling on her high-heels, and grabbed at his arm. His head snapped around, and for a fraction of a second she saw a look of pure fury before his features softened.

"Sorry, Doc," he said mildly. "Sometimes I get carried away. _You_ know how it is."

She stared at him, feeling like a kite that, battling the fierce winds of a hurricane, has been suddenly thrust into calm, dead air and dropped to the ground.

"Yeah," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I know how it is." Worn and severely disoriented by his rapid mood-swings, she released his arm and led the way back to the couch.

The Joker sat, patting the seat next to him. Emotionally exhausted, she let him pull her down beside him.

"What's wrong, Harley?" he asked, sympathy plain in his voice. "You look tired."

"Oh… nothing," she said glumly. "Just… tired."

They sat together quietly for a minute or two. He seemed quite content in her presence, and swivelled around so that he could lie against the back of the couch and watch her. She simply sat, chin in her hands. Her notepad was on the floor near her chair, but she couldn't bring herself to pick it up just yet. Fragments of his account rose unbidden in her mind…

"_WHAM! Sometimes I'd just be sitting there, doing nothing!"_

She shivered.

The Joker prodded her with a toe. "Our time's nearly up, you know."

Harley glanced up at the clock that hung above the door. So it was. She wasn't sure whether the hour had felt very long, or incredibly short.

She got to her feet with a sigh and stretched. She looked down at the Joker, who seemed unfairly relaxed. "Could we put your restraints back on?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Alright. Don't want the guards knowing you've let me wander around the room, eh?" He chuckled to himself.

The Joker tied his own restraints, pulling them as tight as the guards had done nearly an hour earlier. He grunted slightly as he tightened the one around his left wrist, and Harley turned her face away.

"Your turn, Doc," he said, lying back.

"What?"

He nodded towards his right wrist, one eyebrow raised.

Harley sighed, dropping to her knees at his side and pulling the leather binds tight.

"Tighter."

"I can't pull it any tighter," she complained.

The Joker growled. "You _have_ to pull it tighter, or they'll _know_. Do it!"

She took the length of leather in both hands and pulled as hard as she could. The restraint tightened around the Joker's wrist, starting it bleeding again. She bit her lip as she fastened the ties, feeling guilty.

"_That's_ better," the Joker said, giving her a smile. "Cheer up, Doc."

There was a heavy knock on the door, and it opened to reveal Charlie's face. His eyes widened, and suddenly Harley realised exactly how close she was sitting to her patient.

"Uh… Dr. Quinzel?"

She stood and gave the guard the brightest smile she could muster. "Hi, Charlie. Come on in." She crossed to her chair and bent to pick up her notepad. "You arrived just in time: the Joker was just telling me how painful the restraints were getting." She gave Charlie a slightly reproachful look. "You really shouldn't tie them so tightly, you know. You could cut off his circulation."

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

"We'll try not to," said Denny, giving his companion a sharp shove.

Harley turned her back and busied herself at her desk as the guards freed her patient. She looked over her shoulder in time to catch his eye as they lead him out the door, and gave him a little wave.

Whoever thought psychiatry could be so tiring?

She didn't consider herself much of an emotional person. She had _passion_, sure: passion for her work, for success. Never before had she been so involved with her patient's emotions. Never before had her own emotions gotten the better of her in such a way. Probably she should find it frightening, but instead she just felt sad.

The Joker's words kept echoing around in her mind. She tried not to think.

Harley spent the evening in her office, the dark Gotham night swallowing her in its shadows as she tried to formulate an appropriate report for her files. Nothing worked. When she finally gave up and went home, she went straight to her bedroom, shedding items of clothing as she went. She collapsed on her bed, clad only in her underwear, and stared unfocused at the Joker montage on her wall.

A minute later, she started to cry.

* * *

_--Sniffle-- One of the reasons that that took me so long was the angsty!Harley. Get into an angsty character's head and you end up feeling just as worn out as she does. --wahhhh, poor Mistah J!--_

_I'm actually rather content with the changes in their relationship in this chapter. The balance of power is shifting ;) Still, there are a couple of minor issues I'm not happy with... --Grumble-- Curse you, Kite Metaphor! Why won't you be elegant?! ARGH!  
_


	9. The Aftermath

_Hey everyone. Sorry you've had to wait, I didn't have computer access for a few days. Besides, NaNo is already trying to claim my brainmeats. Stop it, NaNo! I need those meats for writing fanfic! You can have the brain on October 31st, and not before!_

_cough_

_Yeah, things are getting a bit more difficult story-wise. This chapter isn't really my best, although it has its moments. There's a paragraph that I spent about 15 minutes going over and over, trying to get it right. It's still not right. Staring at a microsoft word document and willing it to materialise in an elegant fashion just hasn't worked, so it will have to be as is. _

_I have now run out of previously-written chapters so it may take a few more days to update than it has been taking. However, I fully intend to finish the fic. November will be a month full of novel-writing, so I want the fic to be finished by then. If it isn't, then it will be updated rarely, as I'll only be writing it when my novel is causing me grief and I need some time off from it. Just a warning! _

_Disclaimer still applies! _

* * *

Harley woke the next morning with a headache and eyes reddened from crying. She had hardly moved from where she had collapsed there the night before. She sat up with a groan, clutching at her head with one hand. She briefly considered calling in sick to work, but realised that would mean she didn't get to see the Joker.

_You don't have a session with him today,_ she reminded herself. _You won't get to see him anyway_.

But really, what was stopping her visiting his cell? Or observing the videos at the day room guard station? And she hadn't written up her report yet; it would be easier to do so at Arkham, without any distractions.

She rolled out of bed and stumbled out of her room. She turned on the coffee machine – she had developed a caffeine addiction in med school – and made herself a triple-strength latte.

Somehow, she found herself in her study, sitting on her desk and touching the delicate petals of her dried rose with gentle fingers, her other hand wrapped around her warm coffee mug.

Coffee really was the elixir of life. It rejuvenated Harley, sharpened her mind to something approaching normal.

She rang work, telling them she had overslept and that she would be in a bit late. A quick, hot shower washed the tear-stains from her face and eased the aching muscles in her neck and shoulders. Then she went back to her bedroom and opened her closet.

Blouses, in various dark or dull colours. Ties. High heels. Harley massaged a temple with one hand as she took stock. She really _wasn't_ in the mood for that sort of thing this morning.

At last she crossed to her dresser and pulled a black t-shirt out of a drawer. A blouse from her closet went over the top, buttoned halfway until her head started to ache and she gave up the buttoning process.

Again she stared into the depths of her closet, vaguely willing something comfortable to materialise. Ah, there – a pair of smart black dress pants. She used to wear the like to the lab all the time, until Marvon mentioned how much he liked those skirts. Professional, but comfortable. _Much_ better. She should wear this sort of thing more often.

Harley made her way back into the bathroom and rooted around in her medicine cabinet until she found some paracetamol. That, coupled with the caffeine she had ingested earlier, would ease her headache.

Harley's apartment, a graduation gift from her father, had a spectacular view of Gotham city. The man was rarely free with praise or gifts, despite all his daughter had accomplished, and the apartment was particularly special for Harley for this reason. This morning, gazing out over the sunlit city from her large living-room window, she inwardly thanked her father. The sun's warmth was soothing.

She made herself some breakfast, and munched away on her toast as she went over the notes she had made the night before. She was amazed at how messy and incoherent her writing was. Flicking through the notepad, she tore out page after page, tossing them over her shoulder. She left only the notes she had made during the session itself, unable to even look at them.

Breakfast finished, she made her way back to her bedroom to finish getting ready for work. She wore a little extra make-up today, to hide the dark circles under her eyes, and brushed out her long blonde hair. She swept it up into her usual bun. A stray lock slipped out at her right temple, but she wasn't in the mood for perfection today and couldn't be bothered fixing it.

She pulled on some dress boots with fairly low heels that lengthened her legs and complemented the dress pants she was wearing. Looking herself over in her full-length mirror, she was rather pleased with the results. For the first time she realised that the blouse she had grabbed from her closet was a dark shade of purple, and couldn't resist comparing it to the Joker's favourite attire. She caught herself wondering whether he would notice. She discarded the idea of a necktie altogether: the thought of something that tight about her throat today made her swallow heavily.

Something was missing. Her glasses.

She spent twenty minutes in a fruitless search through living room, bedroom, and study. She hadn't dropped them in her path from door to bed the night before. They must be at Arkham, either in her office or the session room.

She would find them later. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the door.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Joker hummed cheerfully to himself as he toyed with the object in his hands. If only his cell had a window to the outside: he might be able to start a fire. If, that is, the impenetrable clouds that seemed to hang constantly over Arkham actually parted enough to let the sunshine through.

He wondered, in an offhand way, what his intern had decided to do with the information he had given her. The story was a sob-fest, with just enough fun in it to keep the Joker interested. For Harley, with her daddy issues and her soft heart, it was perfect. It had leapt instantly to his mind in the session the day before, just more proof that he was, in fact, a total genius. Plus, his delivery had been first-rate.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, slowed, and stopped. The Joker looked up.

"Why, Doc, what a nice surprise!" he said, bounding to his feet. She was wearing _purple_. The very sight of her – in purple, shirt unbuttoned, hair ever so slightly out of place – made his lips curl up into a smile. "My, don't we look pretty? You should wear that sort of thing more often."

Her face lit up, and she blushed very slightly. "Thank you," she said warmly.

He leaned closer to the glass, peering at her. "You're looking tired, though, sweets. Your eyes are all red. Have trouble sleeping?" He smirked.

Her smile wavered. "Kind of."

"Aww, poor girl."

"Nothing another cup of coffee won't fix." Harley hesitated, shifting slightly. "Uh… Have you seen my glasses?" she asked, her eyes downcast. "They're not in my office, or in the session room, and no one's seen them. They're… they were expensive. I really would like to find them."

"You mean, these glasses?" the Joker purred. He held up the thing he had been toying with, letting the spectacles dangle in front of her face.

Harley brightened, pressing her palms up against the glass between them, as if somehow she could step through and seize her prize. Her eyes refocused on the barrier, and she seemed to be thinking about something.

"I'll get them back from you later, when you're in the day room," she suggested.

The idea set the Joker to chuckling. Doctors very rarely visited the day room; the room had a high guard-to-inmate ratio and several cameras, and inmates rarely sacrificed the precious time they had there by causing unnecessary trouble, but even so the psychiatrists tended to give the place a wide berth. Dr. Harlequin's suggestion was either particularly brave or very foolhardy. The Joker recalled her actions the day before, when she had grabbed his arm to defuse his anger, and decided it could well be the former.

"Sounds good to me, Doc," he said with a smirk. "It'll give me the chance to show you off."

The pretty blonde's face lit up again, like a child hanging on a parent's praise.

"You shouldn't say things like that," she said, looking down the hall to ensure that no one had heard him.

"Why not?" the Joker asked, dropping his voice to a low, seductive tone. "Everyone in these cells watches when you walk past. Have you noticed?"

"N-no."

The Joker leant closer, till the tip of his nose was touching the glass. "It's not like giving a pretty girl a compliment is anything out of the ordinary. Don't worry, no one will suspect anything."

He hadn't voiced any real acknowledgement of her feelings towards him before, and the suggestion caught Harley off-guard. She stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide with disbelief, fear, and something the Joker decided was awe. He held her eyes, smile widening slowly.

She swallowed. "Suspect what?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

The Joker held her gaze for another heartbeat before he broke eye contact, grinning easily and waving a hand in explanation.

"_You_ know. The trust we have." He winked. "The fact that you let me waltz around the room yesterday without even noticing when I picked up these." He slipped her glasses onto his nose and grinned at her through the lenses.

His Dr. Harlequin couldn't resist a giggle, and held a hand up in front of her mouth to hide her grin from prying eyes. The Joker pushed the specs onto his forehead so that he could enjoy her sense of mischief without the lenses distorting his view.

"Don't make me laugh," she scolded softly. "I'm supposed to be your _doctor_."

He scoffed. "Where does it say that a doctor can't have a little fun?"

She raised a brow. "With a patient? I'm pretty sure that's on page one of the rulebook, right under 'do no harm'."

The Joker cackled in appreciation of the jest. "Yeah, but no one in here pays much attention to the first rule, so you should be allowed to ignore the second." He leered suggestively at her, but she had dropped her head again, her forehead furrowed in some sort of distress.

"Doc? You're supposed to be smiling, not frowning!"

"Oh… I know, I was just… thinking about something." She looked up, and the sharpness in her eyes impressed him. "I… I really hate the way the doctors here think about you. And the others, as well." She gestured down the hall, indicating his neighbours. "Sometimes…" She trailed off, lost in her own thoughts.

He probed at her a little, testing. "Harley?"

She looked up at him again, and gave him a smile. "I'll see you later. Don't forget to take my glasses with you to the day room."

He watched her walk off down the hallway, a slight frown curving his lips. Well now, _that_ was interesting.

The Joker sat back on his bed, leaning against the wall. He took his doctor's glasses from his forehead and toyed with them as he thought.

Sometimes his little intern seemed so intelligent. Other times, the Joker wondered if she really was a fool. A pretty fool, an entertaining fool, a fool with the sort of spirit one rarely came upon… but a fool, nonetheless. Take this, for example. Only a fool would leave the Joker with any form of metal or glass for even the shortest length of time, let alone suggest that he hang onto them for a while and then take them into a public area.

Unless she really _did_ trust him…

The idea struck the Joker as incredibly funny, and he laughed manically. People up and down the hall started screaming at him to shut up, and when the guard's voice rang out, threatening sedation, he dropped his voice to giggle quietly to himself. Jeez, some people had no sense of humour.

The Joker slipped the glasses back onto his long nose, squinting through them. The prescription was, as his Dr. Harlequin had mentioned, a fairly mild one, but it still distorted his vision enough to make his head feel a little funny. He giggled and took them off, turning them over and over in his hands.

He had taken them simply because he could. Now, he imagined twisting the metal in his hands, forming a weapon or an amusing shape. If he broke them, Harley Quinn would never be able to wear them again. That alone was ample reason to smash them. Besides, the damage he could do with even a small shard of glass was tantalizing…

* * *

_Don't ask me where that idea came from. It just appeared. It's not exactly ideal, but it _does _provide a good excuse for Harley to go wandering about in the day room... _


	10. The Monitor

_This chapter was actually going to feature both POVs, but I haven't finished writing the Joker's half yet and I've kept you waiting. Besides, I did a word count and it turns out this is large enough to count as a chapter in its own right. It's a bit clumsy in parts, I'm afraid. Plus, Riddler joy!_

_Also, I haven't said this before, but I really appreciate everyone who reads and enjoys this fic, especially those who review. You guys are so much awesome. Every time I get a review or a fav. alert it just makes my day. Thanks, guys.  
_

_Teh disklaymer, it stil applyz, kthx  
(Note to self: stop reading lolthulhu and icanhascheezburger, they corrupt the brainmeats) _

* * *

Harley knocked softly on the windowed door of the day room's guard station. The man inside, a clever young man named Jamie, smiled at her and pushed a button to give her access. 

The day room, being a high-risk area of the asylum, had its own system of monitors and alarms in addition to the general security system. Four guards stood inside the locked day room doors, stoic and watchful, and another two stood guard just outside. The guards unlocked the doors with swipe cards that hung securely at their waists.

Two guards manned the security station at a time, taking turns to keep watch on the monitors. In the corner of the station sat a gun cabinet which held rifles loaded with powerful tranquilizer darts. Restraints hung from a coat rack near the door. In emergencies, the guards manning the station could push a large red button, summoning extra assistance. As the day room was only used for a few hours a day, the asylum could afford to devote extra personnel to the area.

Harley smiled at Jamie and his co-worker, Micky. "Hi guys, how's your afternoon going?"

"Hey, Dr. Quinzel," Micky said, leaning back in his chair. "Not so bad. They're behaving themselves today."

"That's good to hear. Mind if I observe for a while?"

"Be our guest," Jamie told her. He stood. "I'm gonna grab a coffee. You two want anything? Black with one sugar for you, right, Micky?"

The guard nodded and turned his attention back to the monitors.

Harley smiled. "A coffee sounds good, Jamie, thanks. White with one sugar, please." She looked about the room as the guard closed the door, taking in the monitors, the safety gear, and the equipment. "How do you keep yourself from pushing that big red button?" she asked. "It makes my fingers twitch."

Micky guffawed. "Actually, we get to push it far too often for my taste!" He winked at her. "Tell you what: if something happens, I'll let you push it."

Harley chuckled. There were two sets of monitors in the room, and each showed the same images. She took a seat in front of the monitors commonly used by the observing psychiatrists, and switched them on.

The monitors jumped to life. No expense had been spared here: the images were sharp, detailed, and in colour. Nearly every area of the day room was visible; only a couple of shadowy areas in the corners were hidden from the cameras' sights. The room was so huge that a small number of blind spots were to be expected. Impressed, Harley pulled out her notebook and settled back to watch.

The Joker hadn't yet been admitted to the day room. Nevertheless, Harley found the experience fascinating. Poison Ivy in particular, as one of the very few women in the asylum, was intriguing to watch. Despite her beauty, the men kept their distance, and only a couple dared to watch her for too long. Ivy sat watching something on the television – "Probably a nature documentary," Micky suggested – but even though no one else seemed to want to watch it, no one tried to change the channel, either.

Harley found herself contemplating what it must be like to be surrounded by so many dangerous people and yet be so self-confident. Ivy had more respect from the psychopaths that were her peers than Harley had received from the males she had shared a laboratory with during med school. It was… unfair.

"Here you are, Dr. Quinzel." Jaime had returned, bearing caffeine.

Harley took the beverage gratefully, and sipped at the life-giving liquid as she turned back to her monitors. Poison Ivy must have noticed someone enter the day room, as the woman stood and moved towards the door. Harley followed the woman's path from one monitor to another, and felt a thrill race through her as she recognised the lean frame of her Joker.

Ivy had placed her hands on her hips and was speaking to the Joker violently and at length. There was no sound from the monitors, and Harley tapped the end of her pen against her lip.

"What do you think she's yelling about?" she asked, tapping the monitor's screen.

Jamie chuckled and took a sip from his coffee cup. "I hear he hurt one of her plants a few months back – god only knows how he got into her cell. She still hasn't forgiven him. They don't get along anyway. We've been trying to keep them apart lately, but that's not always possible."

Harley nodded absently, her eyes fixed on the screen.

The Joker seemed to have grown bored with the redhead's diatribe. He waved a gloved hand, dismissing Ivy's complaints as he walked past her. The irate woman continued to hurl abuse at his retreating back, but he ignored her.

Harley watched her patient's interactions with a few of the asylum's other residents, captivated by his movements and behaviour. Jonathan Crane approached him and made a comment that she guessed must have been fairly offensive, given the look of growing anger on the Joker's face. She found herself holding her breath. Suddenly he relaxed, making some sort of jest and patting the smaller man patronisingly on the shoulder.

Harley recalled the one-eighty in his mood the day before, when she had grabbed his arm to still his anger. She stuck the end of her pen in her mouth and sucked it thoughtfully.

The Joker was a conundrum. Every psychiatrist who had contributed to his file seemed to have a different opinion, many of which contradicted most of the others, and every one of which had, in Harley's opinion, several serious flaws.

He joined a card game, probably poker, to the objections of almost everyone at the table. In fact, after he entered the game one of the other players stood up and left, apparently to the Joker's intense amusement.

He was simply fascinating to observe. Watch him move: easy and graceful, capable of frightening speed. Harley shivered slightly, her eyes sparkling.

None of the other inmates seemed to like the Joker – in fact, more than a couple of the criminals in the day room seemed actually afraid of him – and he appeared to revel in this fact. However, if anyone else became the centre of attention, or – god forbid – made a joke at his expense, his mood changed in an instant.

Harley found herself likening him to a runaway train, racing towards a fork in the tracks. Just as the track could be changed at the last instant, sending the train in a different direction, so one never knew what direction the Joker's mood would go. Take yesterday, for example: when Harley had grabbed his arm he could have tossed her aside like a ragdoll, exploded with rage, even killed her. Instead, the track had switched.

If only one could reliably predict in advance which direction the train would go, Harley mused.

Apparently the Joker had managed to cheat at poker, despite being watched very carefully by a distrustful Two Face. The other players reacted with anger, and the Joker leaned across the table to yell at them before, at a warning from a guard, slowly calming and leaving the table with a quip. He dragged one of the more comfortable chairs into a corner, and presumably sat, but the shadows in the corner and the positions of the cameras meant that Harley couldn't see him properly.

She downed the last of her coffee and stood.

"Thank you, Jamie, Micky," she said, gathering her belongings. "That was really helpful."

"Come back any time," Jamie said, giving her a nod.

She was stopped outside the day room doors by the guards who stood on either side.

"You want to go in there, miss?" one of them asked her.

"It's_Doctor_ Quinzel," she said calmly. "Yes, I do, please. I believe I'm required to leave my possessions out here?"

The guard nodded. "Yep. Everything. Pens, pencils, anything metal, necklaces, pins – "

"Yes, I understand." Harley dropped her notepad and pens to the floor, then pulled off her labcoat and hung it on the hook provided. She smoothed down her blouse, ensuring that she didn't have anything else on her, and she buttoned an extra button on her shirt, feeling a tad self-conscious.

"You ready?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath.

The guard swiped his card. There was a beep, and he pushed the door open for her.

Harley stepped through into a room that had seemed a great deal smaller on camera. Heads turned to look at her. She swallowed heavily.

A man she didn't recognize stared at her with wide eyes, saliva dripping from his leering mouth. Others – serial killers, pyromaniacs, rapists and more – stopped what they were doing and stood, moving closer to her. The guards shifted warningly, tightening hands about stun-guns and pepper spray, and the inmates stopped their advance.

Harley walked slowly across the room, partly out of a strong desire to avoid any sudden molvements or anything that might be interpreted as flight, and partly because she was so fascinated by the criminally insane men and women that walked freely around her. She caught Poison Ivy's eye and risked a smile, but the other woman only narrowed her eyes slightly before returning her attention to her documentary.

A sudden hot breath against her neck made Harley squeal: she jumped and spun to see a man her height grinning at her.

She exhaled sharply. "Henry! What did you do that for? You scared the crap out of me!"

"Just sayin' hello, Dr. Quinzel." The man took a step forward, and Harley stepped back reflexively. "Haven't seen ya in a while."

"I've been reassigned," she said, keeping her voice steady. _You can't show fear with them, only strength. If they notice you're afraid…_

Harley straightened and jutted out her chin, an expression she hoped didn't come across as childish and petulant. "I told you that I wouldn't be back, at the end of our last session. Remember?"

Henry nodded. "Yer. Sure do. Don't remember you bein' quite so cute, though…"

A hand clamped onto the man's shoulder. The Riddler smirked at Henry, and gave Harley a wink.

"Riddle me this, Henry…"

The shorter man groaned loudly. "Aw, no, c'mon man…"

The Riddler pursed his lips in sympathy. "Oh dear, I forgot that thinking hurt your brain. Run along then, Henry, the question will divert to our pretty young doctor here." The Riddler pushed Henry off in the other direction before turning his sharp eyes to Harley.

She felt the hair prickle at the back of her neck, unsure whether her situation had improved at all. Still, at least he breathed through his nose, unlike the hapless Henry.

"Hello, Mr. Nygma, I don't believe we've met," she said politely.

"Maybe not, but I know quite a bit about you." He smiled smugly.

_How much? Would… no. The Joker wouldn't have said anything, would he? No, no… of course not…_

"I know a bit about you, too," she countered. "I've read through your file a few times. You're a fascinating case."

He narrowed his eyes. "Not as fascinating as _some_, I imagine…"

Harley folded her arms, her confidence rising. "I assume you're referring to the Joker. It's true, he's a more interesting case – not to mention more high profile. You can't blame me for choosing him over you."

_Crap. Way to go, Harl…_

The Riddler's eyes widened in anger, but he merely sneered indelicately. "Hrmph. Riddle me this then, Dr. Quinzel: Which crime is punishable if attempted, but not punishable if committed?"

Harley stared up at him for a moment before relief rushed through her. "I know that one!" she said, flashing him a smile. "It's suicide!"

"Indeed it is," the Riddler told her with a smirk. "Indeed it is."

He turned and walked away, and Harley felt a black, icy feeling slide down her spine as the implications of his words sank in. She shivered slightly, resolving to bite her damn tongue in future, and sought the reassuring presence of the Joker.

Relief flooded through her as she caught sight of him. He was in the nearest corner, eyes on her, smiling. A smile rose to her own lips and she quickened her pace.

* * *

_I don't know whether I've mentioned this before... but you may have noticed that the names of all my minor male characters end with "ie" or "y". It amuses me. Except Melvon, of course, but he's special. For some reason. I find myself strangely fond of Melvon. Maybe he should feature in a phone call in a future chapter. Yes, I think perhaps he should. _


	11. The Switch

_Recipe for Joker fun: take one part Joker and one part Harley. Add a sprinking of drama. Put in a large room and shake. Add ice and serve in a martini glass. _

_Actually, that's wrong. For real Joker fun, take one part anisette, one part crème de violette, one part Benedictine and one part cream. Serve in a pousse café glass. (Seriously. That's how you make a Joker. I looked it up. Yes, I am that much of a freak. –cough-- And I am totally going to order one next time I'm in a bar. And then I will squee and make references to the Joker and everyone will look at me as if I'm crazy. Which, apparently, I am.)_

_Ahem._

_Anyways, this chapter is… pretty abysmal. I've only checked over it once and I'll probably change something and replace the chapter at a later point, but I've kept you waiting. See, my computer died, for like two weeks. I died a little inside myself. I couldn't write fic, people! It pained me. Anyways, so, now my computer is working again (fingers crossed, touch wood etc.) I figured I'd better stick up a chapter ASAP. Seeing as NaNo starts tomorrow and all. Expect my brain to break. If I update during November, which I intend to do, it will probably be scary and I'll have to change it when my brain starts working again about mid-December. _

_Um. Yeah. Apologies again for this chapter being less-than-stellar. I haven't been in the Joker's head for a couple of weeks and I think I lost what mojo I had going on there. So uh. Yeah. I'll edit this. I promise. I just want to get it out now so I don't keep you waiting. It's like, do I give you something fairly crappy now, or make you wait for something good? I unno. _

_I stayed up real late finishing this off and reading it over. It's awkward in places, and I think I contradicted myself, but it's nearing 2 in the morning and I want to get up early to write a novel. So be content! ;-)_

* * *

The Joker had settled into his corner expecting a long wait. He felt a small buzz of excitement rising as, a scant few minutes later, the day room doors swung open and Dr. Harlequin stepped inside. 

He glanced up at one of the nearby cameras. She had been watching him. The thought curved his lips into a smile, though he couldn't have said exactly why.

Look at her: killers closing in on her and not even a falter in her step. The Joker smiled indulgently to himself as he watched her. She seemed just as interested in the psychopaths surrounding her as they were in her.

Hidden in his shadowy corner, the Joker dug his shoulderblades into the back of his chair, feeling a sort of voyeuristic pleasure. Had she felt this, watching him?

He frowned as a short man he vaguely recognized approached his Harley and slunk up behind her, his face barely inches from the back of her head. The Joker's lips twitched in a scowl, his muscles tensing ever-so-slightly. How _dare_ that little turd approach her? Didn't he know who she belonged to?

The Joker was almost tempted to stand and show him the error of his ways, but curiosity overcame his possessive streak. There was time enough for punishment later, after all…

It was worth it to see his girl shriek and jump nearly a foot in the air. The Joker chuckled to himself as he watched Harley turn and berate her attacker. She knew him? Maybe an old patient…

A movement caught his eye, and his scowl deepened as he watched the Riddler come to Harley Quinn's rescue. A worthless nothing like the other guy was one thing, but Eddie really _should_ know better. Something would have to be done…

But Harley, surprisingly, was holding her own. Straight-backed, arms folded, head held high… Something caused her forehead to furrow; Eddie must have asked her a riddle. The thought angered the Joker, made him want to break something. Preferably bones. The reaction was illogical, but the rationality of things rarely worried the Joker. He felt things intensely and seldom felt the need to fight the emotion. His hands constricted on the arms of the chair, nails almost ripping through his gloves.

Through the growing haze of his rage, the Joker noticed a change in his Harlequin's expression. She was smiling. Had she answered the riddle? The Riddler turned away; she must have done. The Joker relaxed completely, smirking to himself. An unexpected feeling of pride suffused him, pride in Harley Quinn for holding her own.

A muscle in his cheek twitched. Pride? For what? For doing what anyone with half a brain should be able to do? She didn't deserve it… She was his _doctor_, who cared what she did? It's not like she was representing him. Besides, he was supposed to be breaking her down!

He shook his head violently to dislodge the odd sensation. The movement knocked a lock of green hair in front of his eyes and he blew at it distractedly, noticing as he did so that Harley appeared to have lost some of her pluck. Her face was lined, anxious, and she had folded her arms.

Then she spotted him, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. He grinned at her, noting the relief in her eyes as she fled to him like a ship seeking port in a storm.

"Joker," she said, making no attempt to hide the relieved tone in her voice.

"Harley," he greeted her, giving her a slow nod. His sharp eyes noted every movement, every detail. She made no objection to his use of her first name; if she noticed at all, she must have decided to let it go.

Suddenly he smiled warmly. "Take a seat, toots." When she looked around for a chair, he chuckled and patted his knee invitingly. "C'mon, sweets, I won't bite."

Colour rose to her cheeks and she lowered her eyes so that he couldn't read them. It irked him, slightly, but he tried not to let it show, instead patting his thigh again with one gloved hand.

"I can't," she protested. "I know the cameras can't see, but there are the guards – " The regret in her voice was beautiful to hear.

The Joker gave her another smile, this one slow and easy. "They're busy enough with everyone else," he pointed out. "Besides, this little corner is dark enough that they won't be able to see…"

She shook her head emphatically, and he felt a stab of irritation at her refusal to obey. His face contorted into a fierce frown before he shrugged and waved a hand dismissively.

"Alright, drag over another chair. Can't have a pretty girl standing, can we?"

She hesitated. "I… I won't be staying that long, Joker," she said, attempting to regain some form of professionalism. Too late for that.

He shrugged, as if her refusal meant nothing. He reached down the front of his dull, asylum-issue shirt and pulled out her glasses, dangling them from one finger.

"Go on," he told her, his voice low. "Take them."

Harley caught the hint of danger in his voice, pausing mid-movement to look up into his eyes. He held her gaze for long seconds before she blinked and smiled. Something in her eyes changed, in a way the Joker didn't understand. She reached forward easily and took the glasses from his hand, smiling in a strange way as she held them up to her eyes to look them over.

"You didn't break them."

"You seem surprised," the Joker drawled darkly.

She shook her head, then fixed him with an open grin that cheered him up considerably.

He grinned back. "Feelin' better, toots?"

She nodded. "The… the Riddler worried me a little, made me a little nervous."

The Joker frowned and pursed his lips slightly. He wagged his finger at her in mock reproach. "Now now, Harley, no need to be nervous. We'll have no more of that!"

Her mouth contorted as she smothered a giggle. "But, Joker, he… well, I feel almost like he threatened me." She turned to lean against the wall as she talked, and the Joker shifted slightly in his seat to look up at her. "I know I should be used to that sort of thing by now… So many of the inmates here have made some sort of threat or warning." She laughed suddenly, shaking her head in a self-derisive movement. "I guess it just seems a bit more sinister when it comes in riddle form," she said sardonically.

The Joker chuckled despite himself. "Aw, Harls, tell daddy what he said…"

She smiled slightly, looking out at the psychopaths moving around the room. The Joker followed her gaze and was gratified to note that none of them were watching his doctor any longer. _Damn right._

"He said, 'Which crime is punishable if attempted, but not punishable if committed?'."

The Joker snorted. Typical. "Eddie's losing his touch," he said nastily. "That one's easy."

"It wouldn't have been very good as a threat if I hadn't got it," Harley pointed out, shifting on her feet.

The Joker just grunted, thoroughly annoyed with the Riddler for the threat. He caught Harley's eye and noted the slight furrow of her brow. He gave her a wide smile.

"Not to worry, Harley-girl," he said cheerfully. "The Riddler's no threat to you. He wouldn't _dare_."

"Wouldn't he?" She dropped down in a crouch at his side, hugging her knees. "He wasn't the only one, anyway. They all really wanted to hurt me. I could see it in their eyes. They wanted to take me, and hurt me, and make me theirs." She looked up at him, her eyes almost pleading. "The guards couldn't have helped me in time. The inmates could have hurt me, even killed me. Why didn't they?"

The Joker grinned slowly, indulgently, reaching down with one gloved hand to run his fingers across the top of her head.

"Because you belong to _me_, Harley-girl," he said quietly, "and they know it. They won't interfere with anything that belongs to me."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining. "Really?"

"Haven't you heard?" His grin turned cheeky. "'When super-villains want to scare each other, they tell Joker stories.'"

He watched a thrill run through her, and she grinned as she shivered, as if the idea both frightened and delighted her. She giggled then, in appreciation perhaps, and rose from her crouch.

"Thanks for my glasses," she said, "though you probably shouldn't have taken them in the first place."

The Joker shrugged a shoulder, as if this was of no consideration. "How are you going to get them out? They'd have asked you to take 'em off before coming in here."

"Same way you got them in," she said impishly. With quick hands she tucked her spectacles down the front of her shirt, hooking the arm of the glasses into the wire of her bra to hold them in place. "There." She grinned at him as if this was some sort of triumph.

"I suppose you have to go now," the Joker said mournfully.

His eyes narrowed slightly: she wasn't paying attention. Harley was looking at him, but her head was tilted to one side, as if she was considering his face. It was most off-putting. Then, without warning, she bent and swept his displaced lock of hair back away from his face.

"There!" She planted her hands on her hips in a disconcerting display of contentment. "Sorry, that was beginning to distract me." She blinked, and her face paled slightly, as if she just realised the liberty she had taken. "U-uh…"

Her fear was as entertaining as her smile. The Joker smirked, leaning forward slightly. He was mildly impressed to note that she didn't lean away, just stood, forehead furrowed, uncertain how he would react.

Finally he chuckled, reaching out to pat her fondly on the bum. The look of utter astonishment on her face set him off, peals of laughter echoing around the room. Various inmates shot him vicious glares, and at the far side of the room the guards shifted at their posts.

Harley drew closer to him – closer! to a laughing Joker! - and away from the stares of the inmates.

"I have to go!" she hissed at him. Immediately she turned and made a beeline for the doors.

The Joker let her go, his laughter still ringing out across the room. She hadn't crossed halfway to the doors when the lights went out.

He blinked in surprise. Incredulous voices rose, muttering, calling out to one another. Powercuts were almost unheard of at Arkham; the asylum had its own generator that cut in automatically if the power went out. Powercuts, in fact, were nearly always due to an escape attempt. Who could it be? Who wasn't in the day-room?

The Joker stood, moving quickly towards the centre of the room, ready to take any advantage to escape himself. He hadn't gone three steps before someone slammed into him, knocking him back a step.

"What the hell?!" he roared, grasping the person's small shoulders.

A feminine whimpering came from the vicinity of his chest as the woman wound her fingers into his shirt.

"It's m-me, J-J-J – "

"Harley?" He blinked in surprise. When the lights had gone out the Joker's mind had turned immediately to other matters; he had all but forgotten she was there.

In the dark. Surrounded by inmates. Hidden from the Joker's possessive gaze…

He narrowed his eyes in the darkness, anger tensing the muscles in his back.

"Something wrong, Harley?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild. He lifted a hand to pat her on the back in something approaching a reassuring manner.

She shook her head, face buried in his shirt.

He frowned in irritation. "Are you _sure_?"

"'m fine, J-J-Joker. Just got a li'l f-frightened w-when the l-lights w-went out."

Hmm. She hadn't screamed. Whether or not any of the other inmates had found her in the dark, it was still a point in her favour that, in serious danger as she was, she hadn't cried out.

Even so, he would make _sure_ that everyone knew exactly who she belonged to… and that they kept their hands and eyes to themselves. The images that flashed into his mind at that – of bloodied wrists and gaping eye-sockets – brought a grin to his face.

"Nevermind, sweets," the Joker said cheerfully, patting the trembling Harley on the back once more. "Come on, let's go."

She let out a shuddering sigh and pulled back. She took a few deep breaths; the Joker imagined her composing herself, wiping running mascara, straightening her back.

"'Let's go'? B-both of us?"

It was tempting, he had to admit, but no. He sniggered. "I don't think the guards will let me out, Harl', even if you ask 'em nicely."

This earned a light chuckle from Harley. "Aww. They're so _mean_." She paused. "Um… Which way is the door?"

The Joker looped an arm around her shoulder and steered her in the direction of the door. He had visited the day room so often he could navigate it with his eyes closed – not that it was too difficult, of course, the day room being simply a square. He avoided the milling inmates by whistling his favourite tune to himself. Anyone foolish enough to not heed the warning and get out of the way received a painful blow.

The path cleared as they neared the door, and the Joker fell silent. The guards were talking in frantic whispers, each trying to convince the other to transverse the day-room floor to the blinds on the high day-room windows and open them by hand, so that there would be at least a little light.

The Joker dropped his head down by Harley's ear and hushed her very quietly. His breath must have tickled; she squirmed slightly, but kept silent.

They drew closer to the guards, moving slowly and quietly, until they were a scant couple of inches from the two big men. Their argument had apparently reached a stalemate, and they stood stolidly in front of the doors. The Joker, nearly as tall as they were, drew up directly in front of them, grinning from ear to ear, with Harley silent at his side.

A vague whirring began, just audible above the noise of the day-room. A moment later, the lights came back on. The guards found themselves staring straight into the wide grin of the Joker.

The looks on their faces were worth a week of freedom. Their eyes widened instantly, a mask of terror glazing over their expressions. Seconds passed before years of training kicked in, and each grabbed for his stun-gun.

"Wait!" Harley reached up, placing a small hand over each weapon and gently pushing them down. "He was just escorting me to the doors." She turned her big blue eyes on them, forehead furrowed. "I was stuck out there," she sobbed, "right in the middle of all those criminals!"

The Joker was somewhat taken aback by the high note of hysteria that had crept into her voice. He frowned down at the blonde, but when she looked up to meet his eyes, she winked.

He placed his wrist to his forehead melodramatically. "Oh, the injustice! All I did was help this _poor_ young doctor! What was she to do? Lost out there, in the dark, surrounded by these immoral wastes of flesh!" The last was said with a hint of venom to his voice, but the Joker's tone quickly slipped back into a softer tone. "And you! Standing here when she was out there, in harm's way!"

The guards shifted slightly, looking sidelong at one another in a mixture of guilt and apprehension.

"…so it was left to me to help my doc in her time of need." With a smile, the Joker slipped his arm from Harley's shoulders and gave her a push towards the guards. His gaze flicked from his shrink to the two men, and suddenly he dropped all appearance of affability. The Clown Prince narrowed his eyes, voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "I don't know what the fuck you think you were doing, fellas, but next time she gets it into her head to come in here, you'd better keep your fucking eyes on her."

The silence stretched.

Harley cleared her throat, breaking the tension. "Um, I'll see you at our next session, Mr. Joker."

He smiled brightly, countenance sunny once more. "Sure thing, Doc. See you round!" He turned smartly and marched back across the room to his corner, laughter rising in his throat.

* * *

_Dear Joker: You are insane. Stop having goddamn moodswings. PLEASE. You're hurting my brain._

_I didn't intend the black-out when I wrote this chapter, but it's given me a wonderful opportunity to bring in the Bat, which I've been thinking of doing for a while now. Also, I didn't intend Harley and the Joker to get quite so chummy quite this early on. Harley may still rally the forces of Professionalism and Sense, but hell, we all know how the story ends._

_ OH! I forgot to add!  
The Joker's quote about villains telling Joker stories to scare one another is one of Trickster's lines in "Underworld Unleashed". So, um, literary allusion, etc. _


	12. The Callingcard

_ Holy crap, she's BACK! (Yay!)_

_ Hello, everyone! I'm sorry I didn't get anything done during November. I was obsessed with my novel. If you were wondering, I finished my 50,000 words but I haven't finished the novel yet. I love it, though, if I shine it up enough I might even try to get it published! (Unfortunately it has nothing to do with our favourite purple-clad clown, so may not be of much interest to you ;-) )_

_Anyways! Here is the next chapter, wherein Harley buggers around and doesn't do anything very much. But that's okay, because there's a couple of bits of Character Development. Also in the next couple of chapters I intend to work in a phonecall from Marvon, who is the only male background character with a name that doesn't end with –y or –ie. Could that mean he's important somehow?! (Actually no, it just means I thought he should be called Marvon. Which isn't really even a name, probably.)_

_I'll try to update more often from now on! _

_Oh! Also: my novel's style was a bit different from this story's style. Writing style, I mean. I'm trying to shake off Novel Mode and reinstall Madhouse Mode in order to finish this fanfic, but I had some trouble with this chapter, and I'm also trying to add a couple more tens of thousands of words to my novel. I hope this chapter doesn't seem too off, I might rewrite it later when I find my mojo again._

_Love ya!_

* * *

Harley wasn't sure whether to be grateful that the Joker had stood up for her, or angry that he had exposed their unusually close relationship to the day room guards. 

The two men certainly treated her with more respect, but their eyes were more curious than she felt comfortable with. There was a feeling of distant but growing danger, and she found herself reading into every glance people gave her. What if they talked to Joan or Arkham? What if she was reassigned? _What if, what if, what if…_

She decided that she needed to get out of the Asylum, just for a few moments. Fresh air and a short walk would set her mind at ease after her intense experience in the day room and her vague paranoia. She ended up walking through the grounds just outside of Arkham's first gates, a coffee in hand, attempting to find some peace in herself. She felt a twinge above her left eye; her headache was threatening to come back.

So much emotion… thinking was becoming tiring. Harley was a sensible woman… or she was supposed to be. Usually, she resisted the back-and-forth pull of emotion and stood like a rock in the centre of it all, steady and practical.

Dealing with the Joker didn't allow that sort of thing, she realised with a sigh. He was a force of nature, a tornado, that changed direction apparently at random and dismantled everything in its path. She was beginning to realise that resisting the swirling winds was an exercise in futility that would only result in pain.

The only thing that she could do was relax. Fighting the emotions was only going to exhaust her further, and Harley was just too tired to keep on fighting. It was just easier to let it be. Let go of the tiller, set the sails, and go with the prevailing wind.

The decision was a relief. She turned and made her way back to the Asylum's gate.

To Harley's surprise, she found Joan Leland berating the guard at the door – was his name Danny? – for some transgression.

"…you_know_how dangerous it can be, we're meant to be all but in lockdown! What are you _thinking?!_"

"Take it easy, Dr. Leland, I'm keeping an eye on her! She obviously needed the time outside!"

"What's going on?" asked Harley, raising a pale brow. "Joan?"

"Harley!" Joan threw her arms around the slight woman and squeezed her until she thought her ribs would crack.

Bewildered, Harley hugged her back briefly, then tried to disengage the woman's grip.

"Joan? What's wrong?"

"Oh, Harley!" Joan released her and stepped back. "I heard that you were in the day room when the lights went out! Are you okay?"

"Oh…" Harley risked a small smile. "I'm alright. I was just a little freaked out, so I wanted to go for a walk outside. Was that wrong?"

"Well…" Joan put an arm about Harley's waist and steered her back into the Asylum. "When the power went out, one of the residents escaped."

"Who was it?"

"Victor Fries."

Harley recognized the name. He had been a cryogenics researcher, hadn't he? She vaguely remembered something involving a woman, and an accident…

"Was he the one with the sick wife? Mr. Freeze, right? He needs to stay in below-zero temperatures."

"That's him," Joan nodded.

"It's such a tragic story."

"Maybe so, but it's a mistake to feel sorry for him," Joan said, giving Harley a careful sidelong look. "Many of these guys have sob-stories. If you feel sorry for them, they can use that to take advantage of you."

_Tell me about it_, thought Harley, her mind turning automatically to her session with the Joker the day before. It had affected her so strongly… She pursed her lips. She knew she should tell Joan what the Joker had told her. It was important information and had to be written up into his file. Joan would read it eventually anyway. So why was she so hesitant? It wasn't like she was betraying him… He had told her that information during a _session!_ He would _know_ that she would write it down…

"Fries isn't one to attack people for no reason," Joan continued. "He's more interested in personal revenge, but all the same, you are a doctor at this asylum and if he had seen you he might have decided to punish you for any imagined transgressions upon him from the Asylum."

Harley nodded. "Yes, I understand. I'm sorry I frightened you, but I'm fine."

"Good." Joan smiled at her. "Hey, I've got to go, it's all senior hands on deck when someone escapes. But be careful going home tonight, okay? If you're worried, we're got some extra security coming in, and I'm sure one of them would be happy to escort you home."

"That's okay," said Harley, giving the other psychiatrist a reassuring smile. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"If you're sure. Remember, mace doesn't work on Fries." Joan winked. "Anyway, I know you're probably still a bit freaked out from this afternoon, so if you want to talk about anything, come and find me, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks Joan."

Harley made her way back to her office slowly. She found herself at the Rogues Gallery without any real reason for her to be there.

She waved absently to the guard on duty as she stepped through into the wide hall. He looked worn and wary, too stressed by the recent escape to worry too much about her.

She walked slowly down the hallway, viewing the villains who lined each side with a vague, disconnected indifference. They, for their part, eyed her with a new wariness. Why? It wasn't as if she had been particularly brave in the day room. All she'd done was hide behind the Joker. They could still kill her in a second.

The Joker's cell was still empty. Apparently it was taking time to clear the day room of those who had been in there at the time of the escape. She hadn't come down the Rogues' Gallery in order to see him, but it was still slightly disappointing to see his empty cell.

Hmm. Without someone inside, did they lock the cells?

The idea was not a Dr. Harleen Quinzel sort of idea. Occasionally she _was_ known to break the rules in order to get what she wanted, but even so… _this_ was not the sort of thing one did in order to get ahead in life. Curiosity killed the cat.

Somehow, she couldn't resist. Harley pushed the open button on the wall beside the cell, and to her delight it opened slowly. She slipped inside, feeling a little like a child who had discovered where her parents hid the Christmas presents. A forbidden delight.

She had never really looked at the Joker's cell before. When he was inside it, all attention focused on _him_. She had never really looked at his bedside table, his partitioned toilet, his asylum cot with the dull grey blankets and sheets spread messily across its length.

She sat on it, a thrill running through her as she ran her fingers across the coarse blankets. _He slept here_. She felt like she was exploring a secret, private part of him that everybody just ignored out of hand. Who cared about his bed? Who cared about where he lived? It was just the same as every other prisoner's cell.

And yet, it wasn't. He _lived_ here. It was, when he was in the Asylum, his home. What would he think if he knew she was in here? It was his space. Being inside it was like invading his privacy. One wall may be made of glass, but it was one thing to look inside, and another thing to _be_ inside. It was… _naughty_.

Harley wasn't used to doing anything naughty. The thrill of it brought a smile to her face, left her with quickened breath and shining eyes. She leant down to look underneath the cot, slightly disappointed not to find a … a rubber chicken, or a pack of cards, or some sort of explosive. Something she associated with him. The space was bare and free from contraband.

Of course it was. The Joker wasn't stupid. If he was going to have something he wasn't allowed, he wouldn't hide it _under his bed_.

Part of Harley considered, for a fraction of a second, going through all his things until she found something. This idea was immediately crushed. It was probably the stupidest thing in the universe that she could do. She was only just starting to earn his trust, after all.

The cot was strangely comfortable, for a cot. She bounced on it a couple of times, then swung her legs up onto the cot and laid back, resting on his pillow with her arms behind her head.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. With yesterday, and then the drama of today… She was _so_ tired. And this bed was so oddly comfortable…

She jolted awake, going into a panic as she realised that she had fallen asleep. Shit! How much time had passed?! Had anyone realised she was there?

She calmed down slowly as she checked her watch and discovered she had only been dozing for a few minutes. She laid back down and took another deep breath, trying to capture back some of the serenity she had felt before. No falling asleep this time, though… imagine if she had been asleep on his bed when the guards brought him back!

Harley forced herself to keep her eyes open, and looked around the room to find something to catch her attention. She looked straight up, and started when she saw that the cell's resident had carved some things into the ceiling above the cot.

She sat up, then stood on the bed to get a better look at them. There were the standard Batman caricatures, doodles of Batman being brutally murdered by various entertaining methods, and various high-browed versions of what, if the Joker was a less intelligent man, might have read "J woz here".

Harley felt the cheeky urge to add to the drawings. She pulled a pen from her pocket and paused, unsure what to write. She shouldn't write anything at all! If she did, he would know she had been there…

And yet… it wasn't really too different from the rose and the note that he had left in her office, so many months ago. It was the same thing, really. He visited her private space… She had nothing to feel guilty about. He wasn't to know that she'd fallen asleep on his bed, or anything, just that she had visited and left a message. She couldn't leave a piece of paper, someone might find it. No one probably knew these were even up here, it was safer than writing anywhere else.

She lifted her hand, pen clasped between her fingers. She still didn't know what to write… "visited but you weren't here"? "Called to see you"? No, that didn't seem right at all.

At last she scrawled something short and sweet, in her neat but spidery hand, and stepped off the bed.

Harley walked back to her office, feeling unaccountably cheered by her recent breaking of the rules. Life was certainly more fun when one lived with a little mischief.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Joker whistled as they led him back to his cell. So, Fries had escaped… lucky fellow, probably had some dedicated henchmen working all this time to get him out. Fries couldn't do it of his own accord, trapped as he was in that industrial freezer and unable to leave it even if they left the door wide open.

"Here y'are, clown," said one of the guards, shoving him into his cell. "Stay outta trouble."

"Trouble? Moi?" The Joker put one hand to his chest. "I would never!" He gave the guard a grin that made him shift uncomfortably and avert his eyes.

Left to his own devices, the Joker flopped onto his cot and crossed his feet at the ankle. He had just closed his eyes when a strange scent caught his attention.

He sniffed, confused. Why did his pillow smell like ylang-ylang and coconut?

He_knew_ the scent, he'd smelt it before. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Where… Harley? Yes, she used a perfume, or shampoo, the scent was all over her. But how did the scent get onto his pillow?

The Joker opened his eyes again and stared up into space. He blinked; something seemed different. He focused on the artwork on his ceiling, and his eyes caught on the new addition.

He stood up on his bed to get a better look. It was written in pen, quite thin and not particularly big.

_H + J_

The Joker let out a high, shrieking laugh and jumped up and down on his cot. His Dr. Harlequin was so taken that she had come to his cell and laid on his pillow! She had scribbled the calling card of lovesick teenagers on his ceiling!

Giggling like a demented chipmunk, wide grin stretched across his face, the Joker studied the graffito with glee. He had her.

* * *

_Please excuse the chipmunk similie. I was going to go with "like a demented madman" but that would be silly, seeing as he is one anyway. Some sort of self-deprecating footnote would need to be involved. Either way, the word "demented" had to be in there somewhere. ;-) _

_It was hard as crap to think of a "The " title for this one. --curses-- It TOTALLY counts as one word! It's just hyphenated! I could have called it "the mischief" or "the walkabout" or "Harley's Adventure". Only I couldn't have called it the last one because that would go against the pattern. Besides, it wasn't much of an adventure. _

_ Oh, and I don't know why the Joker would know what ylang-ylang smelled like. So don't ask. The other alternative was cherry-bark and almonds. The Clopman Diamond goes to the person who can tell me (without googling!) where that's from :-D _

_Coming Soon: A Conversation with Marvon; A Meeting with Batbreath, and Continued Slow Character Development._

_Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner than January ;-)_


	13. The Phonecall

_A new chapter already?! Well yes, in fact, the other night when I wrote Chapter Twelve, I just kind of kept writing. I _could_ leave this one until I had Chapter Fourteen written, but I got some wonderful reviews this morning and felt all chipper, so here we go :-D_

_Thanks again everyone for your reviews. They always make my day!_

_I_swear_ that I'll get around to inserting Batman in here somewhere. I_swear._ At one point he was going to be an essential plot element but over November I think I've forgotten what exactly that was. But that's okay. I'll stick him in anyway, for shits and giggles._

_ Holy copyright infringement, Batman! I haven't written a DISCLAIMER in ages!_

_Not mine, bitches. Don't sue. Seriously, don't sue me. Please. I don't own Batman,or Harleykins, or anything in the DC universe. This is for entertainment purposes only! I feel kinda paranoid after writing "copyright infringement", as if this would have suddenly reminded you that you own this stuff. _

_Except Marvon. He's kinda mine. So you can't sue me for him anyway. Nyer nyer. _

* * *

Why had she written it? What was she _thinking?_ She could have said "hi"! She could have said "Harley was here"! She could have just drawn a damn giant damn smiley face with a big fucking Joker grin! 

Why did she have to go and write "H + J" like some stupid kid with a crush on her math teacher? She may as well have drawn a damn heart around it or written "Mrs. Joker"!

What had _possessed_ her?!

Harley stopped pacing her living room and threw herself onto the couch. One arm flung across her forehead, she reached out the other to grab the remote and turn on the television.

Television failed to distract her from her idiocy. Even repeats of "Frasier" refused to hold her interest. In desperation she turned to cartoons, but the very concept of cartoons reminded her of the Joker. Besides, most of the cartoons on nowadays were awful compared to the ones she had watched as a kid.

At last she gave up, and all but threw the remote through her television set.

It was Saturday morning. The night before she had been so tired that she hadn't given too much thought to her stupid message, but this morning reality had reappeared and hit her between the eyes like a hammer. She had spent the morning screeching in frustration and pacing about her apartment in her underwear. She hadn't even made herself a coffee.

She made one now, perched on her kitchen counter in undies and an old t-shirt, pulled on when the chill morning air had reminded her that normal people wear clothes. Still, it was Saturday. When possible, she preferred to relax. She certainly didn't spend much time relaxing during the week.

Coffee in hand, she picked up the phone. She had to call someone, and there was only one person who knew how to get a girl out of a bind like this one.

He picked up on the eighth ring.

"Hello?" came the sleep-addled reply.

"Marvon!"

"Harley? Just a second…" There was a bump, the sort of thing one might hear if a person had rolled out of bed and hit the floor. "Harley, what are you doing ringing at this hour? It's like…"

"It's almost noon, Marvon."

"…it's like, MORNING. On a SUNDAY."

"It's Saturday, Marvon." Harley giggled quietly to herself, and sipped at her coffee.

"Whatever, Harl, it's the damn weekend. Some of us are trying to retain _some_ of our post-graduate lifestyle, even if it _is_ just on weekends." He stopped grousing, and when he spoke again Harley could hear his smile on his voice. "So, what's up? I haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks! You were meant to call and tell me all about the Joker!"

She paused. "That's what I've called to talk to you about. Marvon…" she sighed. "I think I'm becoming… _attached_ to the Joker."

"Attached? You _like_ him?" There was a laugh. "Well, I know he's the sort of intense personality you love, but still! Harley, he _murders_ people. How could you become attached to him?"

Harley shifted uncomfortably. "Well… He's… He's not that bad a person! Not to me. He's almost… nice. He's become, well, like a friend." Her voice dropped, and when she spoke again, it was in barely more than a whisper. "I'm beginning to worry that I'm getting attached to him as… _more_ than a friend."

There was silence at the other end of the line. "…You're kidding, right?"

"I wish I was."

"Well, maybe… I mean, hey, I _know_ you've got good taste, you fucked _me_, after all. But the Joker? He's your _patient_, Harley! If nothing else, that's incredibly unprofessional!"

"Hey, I didn't say I'd _done_ anything."

"Do you want to?"

Had he always been this blunt? Harley blinked into the distance, eyes aimed out over the expansive view of the city of Gotham.

"I… I… God, Marvon, I haven't even _thought_ about that!"

The light tenor voice chuckled. "You haven't even thought about it? Then how do you know you're into him?"

"Well I… I'm almost _scared_ to think about it." She drew her legs up from dangling over the counter and rested her chin on her knees. "If I did, that would mean I'd really crossed a line. Professionally, I'd have to give him up as a patient, and of all the things in the world, Marvon, I'd never ever want to do that. Not because I love him, because he's_fascinating!_"

"As fascinating as we'd always hoped?" Marvon's voice at the end of the line sounded wistful; he too shared a passion for that sort of extreme personality, and had he been here, they would have poured over his file together. She would have discussed her sessions with him every day.

"More."

"Well then, tell me about him!"

Harley opened her mouth… and hesitated. "I… can't."

"Why not? Patient confidentiality? Come on, Harl', everyone in that Asylum has read his file. I may be you're friend, but I'm also a criminal psychiatrist. You're not gossiping, you're _consulting a colleague._ It's totally on the straight and narrow."

Harley smirked. Marvon's outlook on life had always been a bit more… crooked than her own. He had considered that sometimes it's okay to bend the rules – or break them – as long as no one finds out and no one gets hurt. He had influenced her in that regard, for the better, she thought. But having feelings for a patient… someone_would_ get hurt. And it would be Harley.

"I know, Marvon. But… I don't know, I haven't even written it in the file yet. And it's not because of confidentiality, or anything. I just… can't bring myself to tell anyone. It's like he told me in confidence."

"He told you in _session_, Harley. He knew that you'd write it down. 'Sides, you can trust me."

"I know that." She dangled one leg off the counter again, taking a sip of her coffee as she looked out over Gotham. She sighed. "All right. But if you write a book, or tell a single soul, I swear, Marvon, I'll – "

"Gut me like a pig and sell my organs on the black market? Yeah, yeah, I know. I won't tell. I don't trust you not to go psycho on me for stealing your book, anyway. You're _dangerous_ when you're crossed." He laughed. It was an old subject of jest between them; she had torn him a new one once or twice when she had been in a rare bad mood. "Now, give us the goods."

She told him about the session she had had with the Joker the other day, fighting tears in a couple of parts, and skipping over the bit where she had actually taken off his restraints. A good friend Marvon might be – the best, in fact – but he would not be too happy to hear that Harley had apparently lost her mind and let the Joker go walkabout in a session.

When she had relayed the story the young man let out a low whistle. "Wow. That's heavy stuff."

"No kidding."

"Uhm, are you – are you crying?"

"Only a little." She sniffled and rubbed her nose. "I haven't even glanced at my notes since then. It was a really emotional thing. It's crazy; he can be all over the place. Angry, then gloomy… and then cheerful, like nothing had ever happened!"

"Nothing like you," Marvon mentioned.

"No. I've been trying to stay in the same place in the middle of stormy seas, and I keep getting pushed and shoved all over the place. I think it's better to just pull up anchor and let the tides take me where they will."

Marvon chuckled at her maritime metaphors. "Good idea. You could do with a little more loosening up sometimes, anyway. It's great to be professional and dedicated – I've always loved that about you – but there's no harm in letting go for a while. Sometimes patients open up to you a little more when you've been honest and open with them."

"Yeah."_No kidding._ "Good idea, thanks Marvon."

There was the distant sound of coffee beans being ground. "So, you're sure you've got a thing for him? Is this some sort of power fetish, or is it… Hey, you're not a coulrophiliac, are you?"

"You think I have a clown fetish?" She laughed in earnest, and the act lightened her spirits somewhat, and lessened the burden she carried. "No! I mean, I think he's… _intense_. Incredible. He's intelligent, almost frighteningly so. He's graceful, fun, strong, and, yeah, he's powerful. There are mass murderers and serial killers in there who are scared shitless of him, I mean, how much more powerful can a person be?"

There was a thoughtful silence from the other end of the line. At last Marvon said, "What else?"

"Pardon?"

"Tell me more about him. What else? Not about his psychosis. Tell me what you like about him, and what scares you, and what you hate."

A dreamy smile crept across her face. "He left a rose in my office the first day I was there. He's left another note since then, telling me he enjoyed our sessions. I love his laugh, and his smile. They always cheer me up and make me relax a little. He's thin, but there's real muscle under that white skin, he's quite strong, you can see it in the way he moves. And he moves really gracefully sometimes… not like a cat, really, but there's something there. Call it class, maybe… His suit may be purple, but he still wears spats, tails, and gloves."

"But it's _purple._"

"What's wrong with purple?" Harley accused. "He likes it! It's fun! Besides, it suits him. It goes with his pretty green hair."

There was another long pause at the end of the line. "You think his green hair is pretty? What about those red lips, stretched out into that grin?" There was a trace of amusement as well as horror in his voice now.

"I_like_ his grin," said Harley. "And what's wrong with red lips? I don't see anything wrong with it. Besides, he may be grinning in all those photos you see of him, but he can frown, too. He has an incredibly expressive face." She giggled then, suddenly. "You should see him when he's mad! It's so fearsome!"

"Seriously? Did you just say 'fearsome'? And you giggled, just then. You giggled, like a little giggly girl."

"I giggle sometimes," said Harley, slightly defensive.

"Yeah, okay, but not like _that_."

"Well," she sniffed, "maybe I've decided to lighten up a little. Nothing wrong with that."

"…Mayyybe not. So, uh, you've really got it bad for the Joker, huh?"

Harley sighed. "Do you really think so? I was kind of hoping that I was just so obsessed because he was a patient…"

"I know how dedicated you are, and how much work you put into stuff like this, but face it, you're totally smitten. You are defending his wearing of a purple suit, you're talking about his hair like a lover! I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you've got it_bad_."

"But how could this happen?!" Harley wailed. "I'm nice! I don't like it when people get horribly killed! My closet is full of suits and blouses and restrictive high heels! I've never even been to the circus, not even to watch the tumblers and the tight-rope walkers!"

Marvon laughed. "The heart is a mysterious thing, Harley. You gonna be okay? Will you tell your supervisor, and get reassigned?"

"Are you kidding me? Hell no! The Joker is an opportunity of a lifetime!" She sighed. "I'll be fine, honestly. Hopefully it's just a weird passing infatuation. He's different from people I normally associate with. He's famous, and powerful. That's _all it is_. I may be strangely attracted to him and everything, but I just have to push it aside and be Harleen Quinzel again."

"Why? Who have you been lately?"

She giggled. "I've got to go, Marvon. Thanks for talking to me. Sorry I woke you up so early."

"It's too early for sarcasm, anyway."

"It's never too early for sarcasm." She giggled again. "Bye, Marvon."

"Bye, Harl. Remember: Look, but don't touch."

She rolled her eyes as she set the phone handset back onto its charger. Look but don't touch? As if she'd be getting any from a patient!

An image of a naked Joker bound to the psychiatric couch flashed into her mind, and she blushed furiously. All right, so, turns out that with him bound, she probably _could_ have her wicked way with him. _I wonder if his hair is green all over?_

She hid her grin behind her coffee mug. Ah, well. That graffito would just have to stay where it was. There was nothing much she could do about it… he had nothing really to do all day but lie back and stare at his ceiling, so he had probably already seen it. She'd just have to give him a wink, say it was a joke, and move on.

He'd probably think it was a joke anyway. Wouldn't he? He flirted with her sometimes. Just yesterday he had patted his knee and suggested she take a seat. That was just messing about, just light-hearted teasing. (Right?) There was no reason for him not to think that this was just the same thing.

Yes. This was fine. She was on top of this. She would just play his game, nothing wrong with a little flirting in jest, and then eventually this strange infatuation would pass and she would regain some semblance of professionalism.

This was just a difficult week. All would be fine.

Yes.

* * *

_Hooray! Marvon! __(Although clearly he has no taste in suits. He should know that purple is the new black.) _

_Sorry about the lack of Joker, but I'll make it up to you. _

_Also, I apologize if your brain is now filled with bondage scenes, wherein a naked Joker is strapped to things. Not that it's new. Admit it, you've thought about this before.  
I am horribly, horribly tempted to actually do this later on. For the sake of my sanity, I probably shouldn't. And for the sake of the story. I can't write lemons to save my life. Although…. –cough-- Nah...  
_


	14. The Spill

_Oh my god, it's been _forever_, hasn't it? Soooo sorry, everyone!! I'm going to try to keep writing, I swear it! I've been tied up with other things that have been begging for my attention… I have this tendency to obsess, and I obsess over one or two things at a time, so the Joker and Harley took a back seat for a while. But they're back in control, I think, so here I am!_

_This chapter is…. Long. I wanted to chop it in half somewhere but I couldn't find a place to end chapter 14 and carry it on to 15, so I just kinda kept going. Sorry, I don't like chapters to be too long, but here we are._

_Characterization might be a bit off, as haven't written in a while. Will re-assess in a while and might end up re-writing. Less Joker POV this time, as his head is the more difficult to get into. But there's a little switch halfway through. Enjoy!_

Disclaimer:_ I don't own Mad Love, the Joker, or Harley Quinn. No sue, kthx. I is poor. _

_P.S. Many thanks once more to all the wonderful people who have reviewed! You're all so very kind and I really do appreciate it:)_

* * *

Running in high heels wasn't as easy as it looked. 

Harley bounded up the steps towards Arkham, a bundle of files clutched to her chest with one arm, the other hand scrambling to find the phone that buzzed in her purse.

She found it, finally, and lifted it to her ear just as it stopped ringing.

"_Fuck!"_

"Somethin' wrong, Dr. Quinzel?"

Harley stopped in the doorway to the Asylum and sighed, tucking her cellphone away. She gave the curious guard a tired smile.

"Just one of those mornings, Danny."

"Yeah? You don't look like you got much sleep, if you don't mind me sayin' it."

Harley winced slightly and tucked a stray lock of hair behind an ear. A stray lock? Unlike her, to say the least… she probably looked as if she'd just fallen off the back of a truck.

"Late night," she explained to the security guard as he helped her through the door with her files. "And I must have forgotten to set my alarm this morning, slept in, woke up like fifteen minutes ago. I feel like I'm still asleep."

The guard chuckled. "You look it! Why didn't you just ring and come in late? Got a session this morning?"

Harley nodded. "With the Joker." She yawned, covering her mouth with a hand. "Damnit…"

"Grab a coffee before your session, Dr Quinzel," Danny told her with a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry too much about being late…"

Harley snorted indelicately. "I wouldn't be all there anyway, if I didn't," she said. "Thanks for the help, Danny."

"Anytime. Have a good day, Dr Quinzel."

Harley quickened pace again, racing down the hallways as fast as she dared, dodging orderlies and almost running right into Joan Leland. The other doctor accepted her stammered apology and handed her a cup of coffee.

"Here, take mine," she said with a smile. "You take milk, right?"

"I'll take anything this morning," Harley said gratefully, sipping at the hot liquid with almost tangible relief. "God, Joan, you're a lifesaver."

"Anytime," said the brunette. "I'm glad I ran into you, I rang you earlier – "

"Yes, sorry, I was rushing and I couldn't reach my phone – "

Joan waved a hand in dismissal, her lips curving slightly in amusement. "That's okay, I'm just glad you made it in. About our meeting this afternoon, I'd like to push it back, maybe to tomorrow if we can't do it this evening…. There's quite a bit of trouble about Fries and…"

Harley wrinkled her nose in irritation, wondering how the other woman could talk on so calmly while time was ticking away. She was meant to be in session! Didn't that mean anything to anyone?

Joan paused, and Harley leapt. "Sure, Joan, that's fine, just give me a call or leave a message at my office. Sorry but I really have to get going, I have a session…"

Joan laughed gently, and rested a hand on Harley's arm. "Calm down, Harley. You're not late for an exam or anything, alright? There's no need to go running about like that. The guards will wait with the Joker until you get there."

The muscle under Harley's right eye twitched slightly. She forced a smile.

"Hard to stop rushing," she admitted. "Just rolled out of bed a quarter hour ago. My mind still hasn't worked out what's going on."

"Drink your coffee," Joan said kindly. "And don't run, you'll spill it."

Grumbling to herself, Harley stepped into the elevator and, after a bit of thought and minor juggling of files and coffee, pushed the appropriate button with a foot. Being flexible had its advantages.

The doors slid open, and Harley set off down the Rogues' Gallery, oblivious to the men and women in the cells to each side. She turned her head just once, to glance into the Joker's cell.

Not there. Fuck.

Would he be angry? He wouldn't be angry, would he? He was angry at other people, but he'd never been mad to her.

_Harley, you stupid fool! You are not special!_

She quickened her pace as she neared the session room. Three men stood just inside the doorway: the Joker, flanked by two guards.

"I'm here!" she called, waving a coffee-laden hand as she raced down the hall. Her next comment turned into a shriek as she tripped in her high heels and stumbled into the room, landing in a heap of papers on the floor.

The Joker looked down at the young woman who, trying hard not to cry, was scrambling for the papers that had tumbled from her files. Through great, inhuman force of will, he managed to keep from laughing. He nudged one of the guards in the ribs.

"Well, Chaz? Aren't you going to help the Doc with her things?"

Charlie scowled down at the Joker. "Sorry, Dr Quinzel," he said, turning sympathetic eyes to the young doctor. "We really can't – "

"It's alright, Charlie," Harley said, not looking up as she shoved some papers haphazardly into a file. "I understand."

The Joker frowned. "_Help_ the girl, Charlie," he said, his voice tightening. "I'll stand here like a _good_ little boy with your friend here, I _promise._"

Charlie shook his head, impassive.

"_Or_, you could get your damn paws off me and _I'll_ help her."

Charlie's friend gave his colleague a grin and released the Joker's arm to cross the floor and close the session-room door.

"C'mon, Charlie," the man said, "we're here, we're armed. He wants to help, let him help."

The Joker's eyes glinted as the taller guard sighed and shrugged a shoulder.

"Fine. But if anyone asks it was _your_ idea."

The Joker shook off Charlie's grip with some satisfaction. He reached up to massage his arm a moment, pouting, before setting his shoulders and crouching to help his Dr. Harlequin gather her things.

Paperwork? Damn… he had been hoping that the files were on him, or some of the other criminals within Arkham's walls. No such luck. His sharp eyes caught nothing of even slight interest.

Harley reached over to take a piece of paper from his hand with a weak smile.

"Thank you," she said pointedly, and he released the page.

"Can't blame a man for trying," he said, picking up her now empty coffee cup and crushing it in his hand.

"I could, but I won't," she said. "They're not very interesting, anyway. Just some paperwork. Bet you were hoping they were about _you_, huh?"

"Never crossed my mind."

She chuckled, stacking her files and clutching them to her chest as she stood. She gave the Joker a tired but genuine smile.

"Thanks for the help."

The Joker waved a gloved hand dismissively, but the gesture was interrupted as a larger hand grabbed his wrist in a tight grip.

"C'mon, clown," Charlie's pal said, clamping his own mitt on the Joker's shoulder. "Playtime's over."

The Joker narrowed his eyes, distinctly annoyed and frustrated that he couldn't do anything about it. Instead, he amused himself by making lewd comments on the shape of his shrink's ass as she bent to set her files on the desk.

"Shut your mouth, clown!" said Charlie, pushing the Joker onto the psychiatrist's couch with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Oh, I don't mind."

Charlie looked up in surprise, pausing in the act of strapping a restraint about the Joker's wrist. Harley, looking more attractive than ever in her slightly dishevelled state, gave the guards a soft smile that deepened as her eyes drifted to the pale form of her patient.

"What was that, Dr. Quinzel?"

"The comments. I don't mind." She shrugged. "I got used to that sort of thing a long time ago."

Charlie continued to stare at her. "But… he's insulting you, Dr Quinzel! You shouldn't let him do that, you're his doctor and you're in charge, after all. He shouldn't disrespect you."

"Disrespect me?" Dr. Harlequin raised a pale eyebrow, commendably together despite the wrinkles in her skirt and the coffee stains on her blouse. "I thought he was giving me a compliment." Her eyes flicked from the guard to settle on the Joker's face. "Weren't you?"

"'Course I was, sweets," he said, his tone relaxed despite the restraints that tightened around his ankles. "You're my doctor! Whyever would I insult you?"

Charlie's friend – what was his name, again? Denny? – took this opportunity to make an ass of himself. The oversized guard wrinkled his nose and attempted to be clever.

"Didn't you _kill_ your last doctor, clown?"

The Joker shot him a venomous look that softened rapidly into one of deceptive sweetness. "Why, so I did, Denny-boy," he said. "How_good_ of you to remind me."

Denny wasn't all that stupid after all. His eyes widened ever-so-slightly as the implications of the Joker's words and smile crept into his brain. The Joker began to chuckle.

Charlie tightened the last of the restraints and straightened, frowning at the patient as his laughter grew in volume. Denny looked slightly shaken, a rarity in a guard who had survived in Arkham as long as they had.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe we should just take him back to his cell," he offered.

"No, don't," Harley said quickly. "I – I want to talk to him about some progress we made the other day. It's important." _Please, please…_

The guards shrugged.

"If you say so, Dr. Quinzel," said Denny. "Remember, call us if you need anything."

"I will."

The two men left, and Harley breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. Free at last – free from the scrutiny of others. Free to be here, in this room…

Harley sat on her chair and looked about the room with renewed interest as the Joker's laughs subsided to chuckles. What was it about this room now? Why did it feel like such a sanctuary from the world?

The Joker's chuckles quietened, and he grinned at her. "Penny for your thoughts, toots," he offered.

Harley smiled, and shook her head. "It was nothing important." She cocked her head to one side and looked the pale clown up and down, strapped as he was to the psychiatrist's couch. Certain thoughts presented themselves, ones that had run through her mind on Saturday morning, and she coloured slightly, hiding a smile behind one hand.

The Joker narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "Hmm. Maybe _those_ thoughts are worth more than a penny."

She laughed. "I'm not telling!" she said impishly.

"Why?" He leaned towards her as far as his restraints would let her. "Are they _nauuughty?_"

"They might be," she admitted, dropping her eyes.

"Oooh, doc, and here was me thinking you were such an innocent little thing…"

The glint in his eyes made a shiver run down her spine, and she felt herself grinning, rising to his challenge despite the voice at the back of her head that shouted in protest.

"Innocent?" She giggled. "You have _no_ idea."

The Joker scoffed, that twinkle still in his eye. "You? What could you possibly have done? Dr. Prim and Professional?" He threw his head back and cackled. "I'm tied up and you still look more restrained than I do!"

Harley looked over her glasses at him, a wicked smile inching across her face. "That's part of the _fun_," she heard herself saying.

The eager curiosity in his face warmed her, somehow.

"Tell!" he demanded. "C'mon, Harl', don't hold out on me!"

"Alright," she said, crossing one leg over the other. "When I was in grad school, I got a bad mark on a thesis."

The Joker's face dropped. "A bad mark?" He rolled his eyes. "Oh, Harley, how _bad_ you are."

"Let me finish." She smirked. "I'd worked hard on it, and I did a good job. My colleagues had read my thesis and thought it was great. I only got a bad mark because my professor didn't like my ideas and opinions." She shifted slightly on her chair. "He thought I was too… indulgent. Too willing to think that, just maybe, some of those criminals were thinking logically after all."

He looked bored – head resting on the couch, eyes closed – but he asked the question anyway. "So you argued with him, or something?"

Harley shook her head. "Those complaints take far too long to go through and usually your mark isn't changed anyway…" She leant back in her chair and looked at him over her glasses again. "So I slept with him."

The Joker's eyes snapped open, and his laughter echoed off the walls. "_You_?!"

"Me," she said, grinning easily. "I've been known to break the rules on occasion."

The look in his eyes was making her feel… funny. As if he had some_really_ naughty idea…

He shifted his shoulders, and her eyes flicked to the bindings around his wrists.

"Would you like to get out?" she asked, rising to her feet even as she said it.

He raised a brow, as if he hadn't expected the offer. "What if I steal your glasses again?" he teased.

Her hand paused over his restraint. "You wouldn't would you?" she asked with a sigh. "With all the trouble I went to to get them back the other day –"

The Joker rolled his eyes. "No, I won't take them, as long as _you_ take them _off._"

"Deal," she said, yanking hard on the leather restraint to open it.

She stepped back to allow him to unfasten the rest of the restraints himself.

He did so with speed and ease, rubbing his left wrist to restore the circulation. Harley's eyes lingered on the small strip of white skin revealed a moment, until she closed them and shook her head vigorously.

_No. BAD girl. No naughty thoughts for patients. No cookie._

The Joker looked up at her and grinned lasciviously. "So, toots," he said, crossing his legs at the ankle and putting his hands behind his head, "late night?" He waggled his eyebrows, as if she hadn't caught the connotations in his voice.

"Yeah – nothing interesting, though," she said, taking off her glasses and setting them on her desk. "Just this paperwork." She leant back against the desk and looked down at the coffee-stained documents mournfully. "I suppose now I'll have to re-do them."

"But they're so _boring_, Harley," her patient complained.

"Maybe, but they're necessary."

He snorted. "Just write anything. They don't read them, anyway." He swung his legs around with unnerving speed and leant forward, one forearm resting on his knee. "We could make something up together!"

She shook her head. "You may be right, but this has to be done properly. If we don't fill out the paperwork properly, we could stand to get sued – or one of our patients might be released on a technicality."

The Joker grunted. "Yeah, _that'd_ be a _damn_ shame."

Harley opened her mouth to say something comforting, but before she could speak her patient cocked his head to one side and fastened his gaze on her chest. Having a man's eyes drift lower than her face wasn't anything new to the blonde psychiatrist, but the intensity in the Joker's eyes gave her the sudden compulsion to find something to hold in front of her chest.

"What?" she asked, trying to resist the desire to back away. "Do I have something on my shirt?"

He nodded. "Coffee. Isn't it uncomfortable? It's been there for a while, must be getting cold by now."

"Oh!" She looked down, surprised to see a large stain spread down her shirt. Her wet blouse clung to her stomach, the liquid rapidly cooling.

"Crap," she sighed. "I hadn't even noticed." She picked at her shirt and pulled the material away from her stomach. She released it, and it stuck back to her skin. "Typical. And here I was thinking the worst part about spilling coffee was losing the coffee."

"It's just a shirt. You need some new ones, anyway. Wear that purple one, I liked that one."

"It's not that," she said, picking at the blouse again. "I don't have anything else to wear. I'm going to be uncomfortable until I can go grab a new shirt at lunch."

"Well…" Her patient raised one gloved hand and waved it vaguely. "You could always take it off." He grinned at the suspicious look she shot his way. "Better than being uncomfortable, right toots?"

Harley considered her options. Now she was aware of it, the cooling coffee really _did_ feel disgusting. She doubted that the Joker would do anything untoward – besides, if he planned to, whether or not she was wearing a shirt wouldn't change anything.

On the other hand, it was sure to raise eyebrows if someone walked in, especially with the Joker unrestrained. Besides that… the very idea of walking around in just a bra in front of the Joker made a blush rise to her cheeks.

_Don't be _stupid_, Harley,_ she scolded herself. _You're a mature, professional woman. This is not a sexual situation. You wear a bikini to the beach, don't you? What's the difference?_

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Well, alright," she said. "But no comments, okay? You're my patient, and I'm only doing this because it feels really gross."

"Who, me?"

The innocent expression on his face made her giggle. To her surprise, he cheerfully turned his gaze to the ceiling as she unbuttoned her shirt.

"So, doc, anything in particular you'd like to talk about today?" he asked, eyes still turned skyward.

"Hmm? Oh… I hadn't really thought about it," she admitted. "With all the rushing about this morning, all my ideas have slipped my mind." She pulled her blouse over her shoulders and wiped her wet belly with the inside of one sleeve. Ick. Why had she grabbed a pale blouse this morning? Why couldn't it have been one of the darker ones? And why wasn't she wearing her damn lab coat, anyway?

She set her shirt down on the desk, spreading it out to help it dry.

"You can look now," she said, turning to lean back against the desk.

She smiled nervously as the Joker turned his head, but instead of the exaggeratedly salacious expression she had expected, he gave her a warm smile.

"_Very_ nice," he said mildly.

Harley accepted the compliment quietly and crossed back to her chair. She coloured faintly as she sat, clutching her notepad as if it was any real protection from the Joker's gaze.

He smirked at her. "Relax, doc," he said easily. "You've certainly got nothing to be embarrassed about."

She blushed deeper, but couldn't stop a smile rising to her face.

"Now, should we get down to business?"

"I thought you said you didn't have anything to talk about."

The words '_your sex life_' flashed through her brain. It was actually a legitimate area for a psychiatrist to focus on, and the professional part of her mind was genuinely interested.

"Well," she smirked, "we _could_ talk about your sex life, but I think we might lose focus if I'm not wearing a shirt… so we can leave that for another day. What?" she asked, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. "We'd have to talk about it eventually anyway! Didn't any of your other psychiatrists ask you about it?"

"You're the one with the file, doc," he replied, closing his eyes. "You tell me."

Harley tried to remember whether anyone had added anything about his sexuality. If any had been brave enough to ask, they hadn't mentioned it in the file.

"Just because they didn't write about it, doesn't mean they didn't ask," she pointed out. She leant forward in her chair, curious now. "Did anyone ask, at least?"

"One or two."

"And did you answer?"

"Yes… and if _you_ ask, I'll tell _you_ what I told _him_." The Joker swung his legs around and planted his feet on the floor. He leant forward, grinning. "'If I tell you, I'll have to kill you.'"

A certain crime scene photo popped into her mind, of a psychiatrist – or at least, what was left of him – in this very room. Harley paled, sat back in her chair, and pretended to focus on her blank notepad.

The Joker chuckled, a low sound that made her shiver. "Not to worry, sweets," he told her. "I don't plan to tell you."

"_That's_ reassuring," she said, a small smile curving her lips.

"Why don't you talk today?" the Joker suggested. "I talked last time, anyway. It's your turn." He grinned. "You can tell me more about that professor of yours."

The turmoil of the last session was still fresh in Harley's mind. The sessions before, when she had talked and the Joker had listened, had been such easy and pleasant hours. The temptation to return to that relaxed back-and-forth was too strong to resist.

"Well, alright," said Harley, setting aside her notepad. "But just this once. We can't keep spending our sessions like this."

Still, once she wrote up what he had given her the other day, she could probably spend every session like this, and no one would care.

No. There was a book to write. Why was she here? She was here to get to the core of the Joker, to understand him. She was here to _help him_, not to spend every psychiatric session sharing anecdotes.

Just this one more time.

* * *

_In the Next Episode, Bats turns up! Crap. I haven't written Bats before. I apologize in advance if I screw him up ;)_


	15. The Walk

_I had a lot of fun with this chapter. __Which means it was another chapter in which the plot didn't exactly advance much at all, and I just played about with the characters. But it was a lot more fun than just an elevator trip, so it stays in the story. Besides, I think I can turn it into future character development, or even an entire plot point. So that's okay. (Whoo! Justification!) Yes, if you didn't know, I'm pretty much making this up as I go along. There's only minor planning. Besides, the general storyline is given ;)_

_Oh, and I know I said Batman would be in this chapter. I lied. Heh. Honestly I did mean for him to be, but then it turned out to be easier to split the chapter in two, seeing as each half didn't really have all that much to do with the other. Which means you'll get two shorter chapters. But Batsie WILL be in the NEXT chapter, and I know this because I have already started writing it._

_Standard Disclaimer still applies._

* * *

Harley opened one eye, and tried to work out why her neck hurt so much. She opened the other, and her office came into focus.

Had she really fallen asleep at her desk? Maybe she'd been more tired than she thought.

Two sets of paperwork sat on her desk: one covered in coffee stains, the other half-completed copies of the first.

She sighed. The rest would have to be done at home. With a deep breath, she rallied all the focus and drive that had pulled her through her childhood and med school. She was Dr. Harleen Quinzel and she would get these finished on time.

Sleep was for the weak.

Harley gathered her papers together, slipping them into manilla folders and jamming paperclips into place. She scooped the files into one arm and checked her watch.

10pm. Seriously? 10pm? The last time she remembered looking at her watch it had been only five in the afternoon. Had she really slept for five hours? No wonder her neck hurt.

She rubbed it absently as she walked down the dark hallways. Her footsteps echoed, and she marvelled at how empty the asylum seemed on this floor. Strange; the building had just as many people in it at night as during the day.

Harley wasn't a particularly superstitious person. The ominous building, she knew, was really no different at night than it was during the day. All the same, a part of her – the part that had read ghost stories with a flashlight under the covers at night – shivered slightly as she waited for the elevator to arrive. Did the spirits of dead madmen haunt the hallways of Arkham at night?

The silly idea made her grin. Of course they didn't.

Besides, there were enough restless spirits of the living in Arkham, let alone the dead.

She stepped into the elevator, humming a tune restlessly to herself. Was Fries still on the loose? Probably – she should ask one of the guards to walk her to her car. Better safe than sorry. 10pm! Five hours asleep! Her sleep patterns would be out of whack for days.

The elevator doors slid open. Why had she chosen this elevator? It didn't go through to the ground floor, but stopped on one of the prisoners' floors. Some sort of security thing. Elevators from office floors that went through to the ground floor did not have stops on those floors containing inmates. Harley would have to traverse the Rogue's Gallery in order to get to one of the elevators that would take her to the ground floor.

She frowned, annoyed at her slip-up. She must still be a little drowsy. Still, no excuses. She had to keep in mind exactly where she worked. Little slip-ups at Arkham could cost lives.

The guard at the station looked up as she neared the Rogue's Gallery.

"Dr. Quinzel, is it? What are you still doing here?"

"I fell asleep at my desk," she admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm just going home. Took the wrong elevator."

The guard frowned, concerned. "I wouldn't go this way if I was you, ma'am," he said. "You're better off going back up to one of the office floors and taking another elevator down."

Harley's forehead creased with annoyance. "Thanks all the same," she said, "but I'll just go through here. It's no trouble, is it?"

He shook his head. "Not for me, ma'am, but they're… some of the patients get a bit… strange at night."

"I am a criminal psychiatrist," she reminded the guard. "I am sure it will be fine."

He shrugged, clearly not bothered enough to waste any more of either of their time. Harley was grateful. Now that she was in a working frame of mind, she wanted to get home and get as much done as possible. Maybe she'd even manage to write up that other session for the Joker's file.

The guard unlocked the door – security was even tighter at night – and she stepped through into the Rogues Gallery.

She wasn't prepared for the sounds.

Some of the patients at Arkham Asylum were nearly nocturnal. During the day they could be almost catatonic, but at night they came alive, howling and moaning and banging at their cell doors. Harley had read as much in many files, but it was one thing to read it and another to hear it all around her.

She told herself to quicken pace, but instead seemed almost rooted to the spot, and she had to force herself to walk down the hall. It was like being in a horror movie, with the soulless undead moaning and gnashing their teeth, kept from devouring their prey by the heavy cell doors and strong windows.

One of the moaners watched her, his wails distressing her so much that she backed away to the other side of the hall. She kept her eyes on the man as she rounded the corner. When he was out of sight she leaned against a cell in relief, raising a hand to her forehead.

A patient leapt from the shadows and smashed against the glass, his fingers scrabbling at her as if he could dig his way through. She shrieked and jumped away, her files clutched to her chest like a security blanket.

"Harley!"

Her head whipped 'round, eyes searching frantically for –

"Joker!" she smiled in relief, running to his cell as fast as her high heels would let her. Her smile faded when she saw his face. He was furious.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, eyes flashing.

"I – I…" she took a step back, confused. "I took the wrong elevator. It seemed easier to come down through here rather than go back up and take another one." Her bottom lip threatened to tremble, and she clamped her teeth down on it to keep it still. "Don't be angry! I didn't even want to come through here! I just want to go home and get my paperwork done."

A moaner from across the hall cried out her name, a wailing sound that tore at her and made her wish, more than ever, that she had gone back up.

"Haaarleeeeey, Haaaarleeeeey, stay, stay!"

The Joker snarled something at the man that would have made a sailor blush. The patient retreated into the shadows of his cell, his utterances reduced to barely audible mutterings.

The Joker turned his attention back to the woman in front of her, his eyes hard. "You shouldn't have come."

"Yeah, well, I didn't come on purpose, did I?" she said, angry at herself. "I should be able to handle this! I'm a _criminal psychiatrist_, I deal with these people every day!" She squared her shoulders and pushed her glasses further up her nose. "They are the _same_ people at night as they are during the day! They didn't scare me then and they _shouldn't_ scare me _now!_"

The Joker did not seem impressed by this attempt at bravado.

Someone further down the hall started crying. Harley turned towards the noise instinctively, shocked by the primal humanity of the sound. _Poor creature. Not so soulless after all._ She found herself reaching out a hand as if to span the distance between them and comfort the soul.

"How do you stand it?" she asked sadly.

"Stand what?" The Joker's voice was impatient, but Harley barely noticed his tone.

"All that crying, every night. All those moans…" She turned to look back the way she had come, not nearly as afraid of the moaners now as she had been. "All that pain. How can you sleep?"

"Oh, the nurses come down through the halls and sedate them if they get too noisy," he said, waving a hand dismissively.

Harley shot him a look, tilting her head to one side as she watched him.

"That's not really what I meant…"

"Dr. Quinzel?" A voice ran out down the hallway. "Are you alright? Do you need some help?"

"I'm fine!" she called back. "I'll be out in a moment. Don't worry."

The little blonde gave the Joker a fond smile. "Thanks," she said.

His face split into a wide, indulgent smile. "Not at _all_, Sweets."

"Sleep well, Joker."

As he watched her leave, his smile faded. 'Sleep well'? Was she serious? And what the hell had she been going on about? How could he stand _what_?

Someone in the distance called his Dr. Harlequin's name, and he barked out a threat. The voice subsided, and the Joker lay back on his cot with a _hrumph._

She was a fucking fool. A brave little fool, maybe, but a fool nonetheless.

The moaner across from him started calling her name again, softly this time, like a lover. The Joker jumped to his feet and slammed his fist against the glass.

"I'll_kill_ you, you _fucker_, and you'll be _begging_ me to let you die!"

Images filled his head, ideas, things he could do to the man across the hall. He seized on one, an element of glee joining the rage in his voice as he screamed at the man who had _dared_ speak about something that did not belong to him.

"I'll rip out your viscera, and I'll hang you up high! You'll swing from your entrails! And I promise, you'll die laughing!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Joker's high-pitched laughter rang out down the hall as Harley reached the guard post. She shivered. For all he was friendly and urbane when he was with her, there were times when it seemed as though he really _was_ mad.

Of_course_ he was mad. He was here, wasn't he? And all those horrible things he'd done…

The guard gave her a sympathetic smile as she stepped through the door.

"It takes everyone like that, first time," he said. "I don't mind tellin' ya, Dr. Quinzel, I had day-mares for a week after my first time on the night shift."

"Day-mares?" she smirked.

"Well, yeah, ya know, when you're on night shift you sleep during the day." The guard gave her a wink. "Take care, eh? Want me to radio down and have someone walk you to your car?"

"That would be wonderful. Thank you – what was your name?"

"I'm Robbie, Dr. Quinzel. I don't spose you'll be seein' much of me, but it's nice to make your acquaintance, all the same."

"You too, Robbie." She shook the man's hand, then headed downstairs.

In the small, silent space of the elevator, the ghosts of the cries she had heard bounced about. Harley almost felt as though they had followed her, chasing her. She shook her head to dislodge the voices. They were not there, they were only memories.

The elevator doors slid open, and it was with some relief that Harley stepped out onto the ground floor. She fussed in her bag with one hand, looking for her keys. She closed her hands around them just as the asylum doors swung open and an imposing figure in black stepped inside.

* * *

_Unfortunately I think I channeled Silence of the Lambs a little too much in this chapter. That wasn't my intention at all, it just kinda turned out that way. Thought I'd point it out, anyway… the similarities jumped out at me while I was re-reading it and I didn't want anyone to think I was copying it or anything. Especially the people who made it (hint hint, don't sue me, hint hint). All art borrows from other art, and nothing is truly original, but all the same._

_Still. Angry!Joker is all kinds of fun. It's a rush writing him in a bad mood. _


	16. The Bat

_ Admit it, you saw that chapter title coming. _

_ I wasn't really sure about this chapter. It felt a little like walking a tightrope, a little too much either way and I'd fall off. I don't think I'll know whether I got it right for a few more chapters, to be honest. As a result the next chapter might take a couple weeks to get out. I held this one back in the hopes of some kind of breakthrough re the next chapter, but some thought will be involved. I might actually have to start PLANNING chapters out beforehand. (I know, omg, right?) So I may end up writing a few chapters before posting the next one, but it'll mean that I don't have to go back through and change things in a major way if I decide I've done it wrong. _

_--sigh-- When did this become so complicated?  
_

_The standard disclaimer still applies. _

* * *

She froze; stopped in mid-step, one hand wrapped around her files, the other in her purse, clutching her keys. 

Batman. He'd haunted the Gotham night for years, picking up criminals and depositing them in the welcoming hands of police… or here, at Arkham.

Theoretically, he was a Good Guy. Theoretically. And, it had to be said, he had_style_. All that black… and that strong jawline, those broad shoulders. The swoop of his cape. Hmm. You had to admit, he had a little something.

So why did she feel a sense of danger? Why was there a dim animosity towards him?

_As if you didn't know._

Batman stepped through the doorway, pulling a man after him. The man, garbed in a strange sort of armour, was gasping as if he couldn't breathe. The helmet that encircled his head was cracked, allowing an icy vapour to leak into the air.

Victor Fries. Harley set her bag and files down on the receptionist's desk and went to the man's side, her eyes checking carefully for injury._Could_he be injured? She knew so little about his anatomy; how could she help?

"Nurse? Guards, get a nurse in here who knows how to deal with him!" she snapped, frustration wearing at her patience.

When Fries was taken into the hands of experienced guards and nurses, Harley turned to the arresting figure who stood, arms folded, beside her.

_He's taller than the Joker, almost,_ Harley thought to herself, wincing as the act of looking up cramped a neck already sore from sleeping on her desk.

She summoned her courage. "Mr. Batman?"

It seemed as if he raised a brow under that mask. "Yes?"

She fumbled for her notebook and found it in the pocket of her lab coat. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions," she said, flipping it open and finding a pen. "I've recently been assigned to the Joker, and I really think you could help provide some insight on –"

"Don't bother," he said flatly. "No one has ever made any progress with the Joker, with or without my help."

Harley quashed a stab of annoyance and tried to stay polite. "This isn't about your help," she said, her voice tightening. "I don't want you to tell me _your_ theories, or anything like that. I want to know about _you_. If I understand you and your relationship with the Joker, I'll be better able to understand him."

Batman shook his head. "Give up," he suggested. "Try to get yourself reassigned. He'll destroy you. You won't last two sessions."

Harley opened her mouth to tell him that she'd just finished her fourth, thank you so very much, but she thought better of it.

"Thank you for your co-operation, Mr. Batman," she said icily. She turned on her heel, only to feel his gauntleted hand drop onto her shoulder.

"Wait. I know that you're doing your job, and that you want to help him. You have to know that the Joker is a lost cause. Don't waste your life trying to help him. You'll never get anywhere, and he won't thank you for it."

Harley looked up at him over her shoulder. "Trying to keep me from disappointment, Batman? Trying to keep me from turning cynical like all the rest of the shrinks in here?" She shrugged, stepping away from him and spreading her hands in a gesture of acceptance. "I know that I'm caught up in the idealism of youth. Just out of grad school, I bet you see them all the time, all filled up with the certain knowledge that they can save the world." She smiled a grim smile. "Well, maybe I can't save the world. But I can try to save this little part of it. And maybe I'll fail miserably, but at least I'll have tried. And if you don't at least _hope_ that you can make a difference, however small…"

He had caught the double-edged thrust of her speech, and nodded slightly. Good. She wasn't sure what she'd have done if he'd turned out to be a damned hypocrite.

"Just this little part of it, huh?" he said wryly. "You picked a hell of a 'little part'."

"So did you," she said, raising her chin slightly, almost a challenge. "Gotham's not the easiest town in the world to clean up. I bet sometimes you wonder whether you really make a difference."

He seemed surprised, as if he hadn't expected her to say anything even remotely intelligent. How the hell did he think she had made it through medical school? She was a goddamn _psychiatrist_, it was her _job_ to know what made people tick. Public servants worrying whether they made a difference, that was _textbook_.

Batman narrowed those glowing eyes slightly. "Sometimes," he admitted. "I have to go." He turned, but paused in the doorway. "Think up some questions that I can answer quickly," he said. "I might be able to help you another night."

A swoop of his cape, and he was gone; another shadow among shadows in the dark Gotham night.

Harley stared after him a moment. Then she pouted. Scene-stealer. Here she was coming up with _brilliant_ lines about how alike they really were, and then he not only gets the last word, he makes an impressive, swoopy exit! And suddenly, somehow, he's the one who came out on top!

Annoyed, Harley stuffed her notebook into her bag. She stalked off towards her car, muttering under her breath. Stupid bat.

Stupid, self-righteous, humourless, spotlight-hogging –

Harley shook her head as she unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel. He_did_ offer to help her. Sure, he had been patronising, but despite it he had agreed to answer her questions.

Still, she thought as she drove towards home, it was easy to see why Batman and the Joker didn't get along. The Bat was just as straight-laced and… and _boring_ in real life as he had always seemed in

_Not so long ago you were just as straight-laced and boring yourself. You and Batman should get along well._

Harley felt a blush spread across her cheeks at the thought. Had she really changed so much, in so little time? A month ago she might have admired Batman's ethics, his dedication to going out there every night and doing what had to be done. Now she just wanted to tell him to loosen up and get over himself.

No wonder the Joker didn't like him. He was the manifestation of everything the Joker disliked.

Harley's brain kicked back into Psychiatrist Mode as she parked her car and began to gather her things. It was just as easy to see why Batman didn't like the Joker. Batman was rules, order, stability, laws, social structure. The Joker was none of those things. The Joker was a catalyst, a wildfire, a force of nature. He broke through rules, order, stability; he showed them to be the follies they were. Of course they didn't get along, they were polar opposites. Each stood for the bane of the other.

Harley climbed the stairs to her apartment, trying to quash the thought that batted around at the back of her brain: _You used to be just like Batman. Just like him. How did you change? When did you change? Why did you change?_

Another thought arose out of the ether and stopped her in mid-step: If she was, or had been, just like Batman, and the Joker didn't _like_ Batman… did that mean the Joker didn't like her?

Her first reaction was to dismiss the thought as nonsense. Her second was to wonder at how her heart had stopped at the concept, the very _idea_, that the Joker might dislike her.

It was so… so _stupid_. He didn't like _anyone_, did he? She might be harbouring some affection for him, might even be falling for him, but had she ever truly thought, even for a second, that he might hold any feelings for her at all?

Tears began to well up in her eyes as she fumbled with her key in her lock. Yes, yes, she had to admit it to herself. She had been under the, the_delusion_ that he actually cared something for her. He was playing with her. He must be. Just a game.

Harley stepped inside her apartment and dropped her files to the floor. She closed her door, leaning back against it and desperately fighting the sob that was rising in her chest. How could it all have been a game? How…

She sniffed, and dashed the tears from her eyes. No. This was stupid. She had never given him any reason to think that they were more than friends, at the very most. He had no _reason_ to feel anything for her, save a shrink-patient relationship. The little flirtations, the small demonstrations of trust… they were only that. Trust didn't mean anything more than trust. If it came to that, Harley would trust _Batman_ with her life. That didn't mean she liked him.

Anything she had seen in the Joker's eyes was probably just a projection of her own attraction to the man. The psychiatrist within her brightened up, latching onto this idea like a life preserver. Yes, of course. It wasn't the _Joker_ playing games. It was her own mind that was playing tricks on her. Minds did that constantly. It was only natural. Just a by-product of her attraction.

Harley sniffled, but a small smile crept across her face. Her trust in the Joker was restored, and stronger for the test. True, she should never have trusted him in the first place. True, every day she berated herself for feeling any sort of trust in him. True, she was an _idiot_ for trusting him. But, and she could deny it no longer, she _did_ trust him.

_Goddamn fool. _

But she smiled as she gathered her files, took them through to her study. A little work would steady her mind, distract her from her issues. Tonight it was a pleasure.

* * *

_Like I said, I'm not entirely sure about this one. I think I made Harley a little too insightful for this stage in her mental development. Nor am I sure about her mental processes near the end there. Is she too deluded, or not deluded enough? _

_There are things I will need to plan out, I think, like when exactly Harley admits her feelings to the Joker. I feel like the Joker is moving forward, and Harley just took a step back. This may be beneficial as far as the fic is concerned, or I may get really annoyed with it, decide that my current line of thinking spells doom, and rewrite this chapter entirely. So prepare yourselves.  
_


End file.
